Mauna
by Future Memory
Summary: How strong is the law in the face of true love?
1. Chapter 1

_**One rainy day and I go back to writing. It seems I can't without it.**_

* * *

Silence. All he really wants is silence.

Unfortunately, silence is not an option. _"You were born screaming and you will live your life with those sounds drumming inside of your ears,"_ his father used to say in his rare moments of sanity and soberness when he wasn't surrounded by wine and music and whores.

A king is not entitled to silence because a king is saved from loneliness. Or buried in its salvation.

He was hungry for silence since early childhood, and he would have given up all of the gold entitled to his name for a minute of it. Maybe even a second would have been enough.

But instead of silence he got a crown and a title and more gold than he could have ever imagined. He got peoples respect, not just because of his name, but because of his generosity and gentle smile, but mostly because he was a completely different man than his father was, which initially made him a better king. He had put his fathers name in shadow, people said, and everyone after him will live in his shadow, trying to rise above but failing greatly.

"My Lord," Alaric says gently, with best intentions at his heart, "You have to choose a wife. It's time. People love you, but they won't love a king forever if he lives in vice, not even a kind one."

Stefan's forehead creases and he throws his palm over the length of his face to hide his annoyance. They've been through this topic many times in the past few months and it gotten them nowhere. Stefan is stubborn and the members of the imperial council are persistent. They mean well but that doesn't mean their actions are righteous.

"Vice?" Damon laughs hoarsely, "My brother barely looks at women, let alone touch them."

This is probably the first time that Damon said anything topic wise during a court meeting. A grin appears on Stefan's face as his brother makes that comment, but he hides it under his palm. He thinks about how Damon should be sitting in his place right now. He is their parents eldest son, the rightful heir, but he was never a king material, even less than his father was. Everyone knew it and he knew it so he respectfully declined the throne. People were relieved when he did it, because he loves women and wine as much as their father did, but Damon is something their father wasn't - greedy and lazy. As much as he was bad at it, their father enjoyed being a king. Damon loves the perks of being royalty, but he hates the responsibility. The kingdom would crumble under his hand. Stefan is kind and generous and respectful, he is a ten times bigger man than his father was. Being a good man and being a good king are two completely different things even though Stefan doesn't lack at the other department either. Even though he just turned 18 he's hardworking and responsible and smart. Was he happy when he found out he's going to be a king? Not at all, he wanted to be a knight. Did he accept the responsibility without complaining? Yes, mostly because of his mother. Because this was her kingdom, her legacy, but a queen can't rule the kingdom, the king can, so everything her father built fell into his fathers hands and he had almost ruined it.

_"You're a true king, Stefan,"_ his mother used to say when he was a child, _"Not because you carry your fathers name, but because you're my son."_

And she died by his fathers side like she was equal to him, when in reality she was so above him that in comparison to her he looked like a bean planted deep in the infertile ground.

"All you have to do is pick out one of the lovely ladies from the royal rows, marry her, make her sit next to you quietly and make her give you children," one of the members of the imperial council said casually, "You don't even have to like her. You can enjoy other women."

_Make her sit next to you quietly._ If silence was guaranteed to him by marriage he would marry the first girl in his sight.

The members start bickering loudly, clearly their opinions parting on this topic. Stefan removes the palm from his face and looks at the room full of grown men fighting over how he should lead his life. Damon looks as amused as always, slowly sipping wine.

How did his mother used to say?_ "True kings words can be heard in silence as well as in the loud murmur of the crowd."_

He decides to go around that, just this once.

"Enough!" he slams his fist against a wooden table and even Damon jumps a little in his chair after his brothers action. He may be kind, but he's nowhere near patient, or fickle. He's not going to let a bunch of men braid his future like they own it.

If there's one thing he likes about being a king, it's freedom.

"I'm not going to marry just anyone," he says calmly to the ten pair of eyes watching him wakefully, "When I marry, I'm going to do it out of love, not out of need. And when I do, I'm not going to insult my wife, or myself, by sleeping around in the bed of other women."

Stefan was a man of principles and they knew it. Sometimes they wished he wasn't.

This time, Alaric gives himself the right to defile his king. "That's not how king is supposed to behave."

Damon's eyes rest on Stefan's calm face which twitches under Alaric's words. Alaric was their fathers friend, his loyal companion who thought their fathers word is a law even when it was against the law.

Stefan chuckles lightly while slowly standing up. "And how is a king supposed to behave? Am I to spend all of the kingdoms treasury on pleasure? Am I to enter my wife's chambers only when there's no one else to keep my bed warm? Am I to be stranger to my children, or to become blind to my peoples hunger?" he keeps raising his voice after every sentence spoken while circling around the table in the middle of the room, "Am I supposed to behave like my father?"

Alaric allows himself to raise his voice as well, knowing Stefan won't do much about it. "You wouldn't be here if it weren't for your father. Your father was a king," he says with a great deal of respect.

"He was no king!" Stefan replies angrily, "He was a lowlife who spent his life seeding his bastards around the kingdom who most likely died from hunger."

"He lived the law," Alaric replies calmly knowing Stefan doesn't have much love for their law, but respect it nevertheless.

Stefan chuckles. "If something were to happen to me, one of his bastards would be next in line for the throne. What does your law think about that?"

Silence envelops the room and for a second Stefan gets his wish, and curses himself for breaking it. "King is nothing without his queen. If it weren't for my mother there wouldn't be a kingdom anymore, and you know it."

No one says a word. Blissful silence swallows the room, and Stefan revels in it, knowing it won't last long. The only sound are his steps on the cold concrete which soon get mixed with running steps from the hallway outside of the room. Someone knocks on the door, and Stefan sighs in disappointment.

"Enter," he says loud enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear.

One of the soldiers comes into the room, his spear protruding from his fist, and he bows before the king.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but your presence is required, my lord," he speaks with his head still bowed, his eyes locked on the floor.

Even though there are apparently some more urgent things to be handled, which will probably cause a lot of wreck and take away the memory of silence, he feels relieved to escape the room.

"Very well," he responds after turning his attention to ten men sitting still by the square table, "This meeting is adjourned."

He urges the soldier to exit the room, and as he does Stefan follows his step. As they move down the hall he can hear someones footsteps behind them.

"Bashing father in Alaric's face," he hears his brothers voice behind his shoulder, "Naughty, naughty king," he can basically hear Damon's smirk.

"His blind devotion is tiresome," Stefan brushes his brothers comment off, "Is he ever going to get tired of defending a corpse?" he asks, even though he doesn't expect an answer to that question.

His intentions don't stop Damon, though. "It's not the corpse he's defending, it's the time when his life held importance."

Stefan looks at his brother, who is now no longer behind him, but standing next to him, shoulder to shoulder, with a curiosity in his eyes.

"Not so long ago he was kings right hand," Damon explains, "Now not even his opinion is valued."

Stefan ponders on it a little. "I don't need someone to be my right hand when both of mine are functioning."

Damon smirks at his brothers words. "And if you did, everyone know it would be me."

Stefan laughs out loudly at that. "You're as useful as a little finger, Damon," he shakes his head.

"One of these days you're going to hurt my feelings."

"As if you have any."

"Nothing to worry about Damon, you know none of the other members agree with Alaric, they all hated our father as much as we have. Maybe even more, since after all, they knew him better."

"I know," Damon nods, convinced in his brothers words, "I only question how much can you push Alaric before he breaks."

Stefan looks at him, but Damon keeps looking straight ahead.

Both of them follow the soldier through the barely lit hallways. When they reach the door leading to the back yard, the soldier pushes them open and Stefan notices bunch of his men with torches and spears in their hands standing in a circle, quietly, their eyes locked on something on the ground. He steps on the ground still damp from yesterdays rain and when men notice the king and his brother approaching them, they step aside, allowing them a clear view of what they have been staring at.

Stefan enters the circle and Damon follows him, mostly to satisfy his own curiosity. All the men bow down, but Stefan mimics with his hand for them to stand straight up, so they do. They keep their eyes in level with Stefan when he asks, "What seems to be the problem?"

Damon nudges Stefan on the shoulder when one of the soldiers speaks up. "Her," the chain in his hands rattles and Stefan realizes the soldier in front of him had spoken. He follows the thick, rusty chain from the soldiers hand to the ground, where it's clasped around a girls neck.

Yard is surrounded by high walls with guards on the top of them, and the sky is dark. Very dark, as well as their surrounding. Cold wind is blowing, leftover from the storm which lasted for few days and ended yesterday. In all that darkness, even though there are few torches lit by soldiers, he almost hasn't seen the girl. Her hair is dark and damp. He wonders is it usually the color of a coal, or is it of this color because it's stained with mud and water. He finds it strange to be asking himself that question but he leaves it be. The color of this intruders hair is the least of his worries. Even though her head is lowered, probably due to the heaviness of the chain, he can see her face is stained with mud as well. She's dressed in rags, which are muddy and torn so he can see some of her skin which looks as muddy as the clothes itself. She looks like one of the beggars, which Stefan is trying to clear the kingdom from. Give them a chance for a decent life, fresh start. Maybe it's a foolish thing to do, maybe their existence has a purpose, maybe they keep the balance.

"She ran into the gates," the soldier speaks again, "Yelling something about killing the king," he pulls the chain in his hand and the girl chokes a little. When he looses the chain, she clasps for air.

Stefan stands still in front of his men, in front of the girl and his brother, trying to find the right words to say. His father used to receive dead threats which he disregarded. Which had cost him his life, as well as the life of his wife and their mother. People despised the king, it was only a matter of time until someone did anything about it. But Stefan, Stefan was loved. People in the kingdom loved him more than the men on the court. King is supposed to love his family more than his people and Stefan did the opposite.

"What's your name?" Stefan asks the girl.

Slowly, the girl raises her head, probably struggling under the weight of the chain wrapped around her neck. Her face is not only stained with mud, but with blood as well. It's splattered over he cheeks and Stefan wonders is it her own. Her lip is cracked and a small stream of blood is pouring down it. Her eyes meet his and they are darker than the night itself. They radiate innocence, as well as fear and pain.

Until a smirk curves on her lips, and he thinks how it looks like she stole it from his brother and plastered it on her own face.

"Fuck you," she spits at him.

Damon chuckles. A peasant girl disobeying the king, he likes her already.

The soldier tightens the chain around her neck and she starts choking again. He pulls her up on her feet which is when Stefan notices her hands are tied behind her back with chains as well. It seems uncomfortable, and highly unneeded for a young girl to be restrained in a way they restrain wild dogs and grown men.

"Such a filthy mouth," the soldiers barks at her, releasing the chain once she's on her feet, allowing her lungs to get filled with air. To teach her a lesson he brings his hand in the air, ready to slap her across her face.

As his hand starts falling on her face, Stefan stops it in the mid air, but notices that the girl hasn't even flinched. She was about to be hit by a man twice her size and she hasn't even flinched.

The soldier looks at him surprised as Stefan's fingers wrap around the mans wrist. "If I see you hitting a woman one more time, I'll cut your fists off myself."

Confusion washes over the girls face, but it gets lost in a moment.

Stefan lets go of the soldiers wrist, and the soldier nods in understanding. He releases the chain in his hand, and now when nothing is holding her, the girl falls back on her knees. The chain wrapped all over her body brings her down on the ground, staining her with more mud. She's too weak to stand, Stefan concludes, when he notices her collar bones sticking out of her body more than they stick out on the other ladies.

_Lady._ Some people would frown upon him of thinking of this intruder as a lady.

He crouches before her, and some of the soldiers gasp. The king never crouches in front of anyone. The girl looks up, locking her eyes on his, and her look is deviant.

"What's your name?" Stefan repeats his question one more time.

"What do you need my name for?" she asks slyly, "You're going to kill me, anyway. Do you really need to know who you're killing?"

Her words confuse him but he doesn't let her see it. He studies her for a moment, the conflicted look in her eyes, her bony body, her stained skin, still trying to figure out is the blood on her face her own.

"I want to see the king," she says determinedly, and for that he admires her, because she's making requests when she's in no place to make requests.

"What for?" he asks curious. Apparently, she doesn't know what the king looks like, if she did, she would have recognized him. Unless she's not asking for him. Unless she's asking for another king.

A sly smirk reappears on her face. "I hear he likes 'em young and fresh," she licks her bloody lips and once her tongue falls on the cut, she winces.

Damon barks in laughter, "I worry you have been misinformed, sweetheart," he comments, but he never gets her attention. Her eye never leave Stefan's.

_He's playing me,_ she thinks to herself, _kindness if the most powerful weapon and it cuts deep._

"The king is crouching in front of you," Damon comments against his brothers wish.

The girl allows Stefan to catch her confusion this time. "You can't be the king."

"I'm sorry to disappoint."

"You're a child."

Stefan chuckles. "So are you."

"But I'm not running the kingdom."

"You seem to be on a mission," Stefan knits his thick brows together, "Which is similar."

She studies him. The gentleness of his eyes, the slight curve of his lips, small dimples on the corners of his lips, where they meet his cheeks, his soft skin. "I never knew a king could be such a wimp."

The soldier growls but Stefan hushes him by raising his look to him. When the man silences himself he looks back to the girl. He stands up.

"Up," he orders.

The soldier reaches for the chains but Stefan stops him.

"She will do it on her own," he says, making her raise her look to him.

She keeps looking at him for few seconds, then raises one of her legs and buries her foot in the ground. She bounces of the ground and does the same with her second leg. The bones rattle in her knees, and they give her up, pulling her back to the ground.

But she never reaches the ground. Stefan puts his hands around her shoulders and props her back up on her feet, giving her time to adjust to standing on her own. Her eyes never leave his.

Damon gasps. "Why can't Alaric be here for moments like this?" he whines. _"It's one thing to feed the poor, but to hold them? You're a disappointment to your lineage, Stefan, and you will never be a good king!"_ Damon mimics Alaric's voice, but something clenches in Stefan's throat upon hearing those words.

When he's convinced the girl is stable enough to stand on her own he lets go of her shoulders.

"What should we do with her, my lord?" the soldier picks up the chains gently.

Stefan stays silent for a while, holding the girls gaze.

"Should we get rid of her?" the other one asks, the edge of his spear shining under the moonlight.

She doesn't react to his words. He proposes death and she stands perfectly still. Why is that? Why doesn't she beg for her life?

"No," Stefan shakes his head determined, "Take her to the dungeon," he orders his men.

They nod in understanding and take the girl away.

* * *

_**AN: Hello again, and welcome to my new story! :) Is the title confusing you? Good. Don't google for the meaning, it will make much more sense if you wait for me to reveal it ;) What do you think of it so far? Are you interested? Should I keep writing it? Please, tell me your opinions, much appreciated :)**_


	2. Chapter 2

The sun never reaches his room, so he has no help with waking up, unless there's some urgent matter to take care off. He wakes up because he knows he has to.

When he was younger he thought that being a king meant he gets to sleep as long as he wants to, maybe even until it's time for lunch. At least that's what his father did. As he grew older he realized the only reason why his father slept for so long is because he was hungover every day in the week.

Stefan usually woke up before anyone else, when sun was exchanging its place with the moon, while it was crossing the line between reality and imagination. He would climb on the high walls and greet the guards who were stuck with the night shift and watch his kingdom, as wide and as long as it was, while it was still empty, lifeless. Before men woke up to go to work and women to feed the children and the stock and before children ran out in the busy streets to find their entertainment of the day. He would hum, sometimes happily, sometimes worryingly, watching at the potential before him. So many things to fix, things his father had ruined without even trying. So many things to make better and so many of them demolish completely. New day, new chance, new hope.

This morning he woke up later than usual and he knew it because the sun was high on the sky, even though it was hidden behind the gray clouds. There's too much rain, as well as there's too much misery.

There's too much of everything except the things that would be welcomed in large amounts.

He knew he will have to skip breakfast in order not to spoil his stomach for lunch. That thought brought him back to early childhood, when Damon and him would sneak into the kitchen and steal still hot cakes, right out of the oven, from the griddle. Phillipa's cakes, who was the main cook on the court since their mother was young, would always fill them up nicely and there would be no place left for lunch, which is when their mother would give them a warning eye, reminding them not to do it again and they would keep on wondering how in the God's name she knows what they did. _"There's a reason why the dessert comes after a meal,"_ their mother used to say, _"End is usually more satisfying than anyone thinks."_

He gets his clothes from the wardrobe, a dress shirt with dark leather sleeves and thin red silk in the middle where two fighting lions, their kingdoms symbol, are bound with golden thread. There are golden epaulettes on his shoulders. His leather pants are barely visible from the dress shirt, especially after he puts on high black boots. He puts his sword in its rightful place and leaves for the door.

He hates the idea of someone helping him get dressed, especially because his father enjoyed the privilege. He usually just needs help with his armor. If you can't trust your king to dress himself without anyone's help, how can you trust him to lead an entire kingdom?

He exits into an empty hallway and starts walking in the direction opposite of the rooms he usually frequents during the day.

"Up this late," he hears a well known voice coming from behind him. He turns around in a hurry and notices his brother leaning onto a wall next to the door of him room. He's wearing his usual smirk, one that says either his limbs or his mind is up to no good, and for a millionth time in his life Stefan wonders was Damon born with that smirk. "For a moment there I thought you have a girl in there with you," his smirk broads on his face. Damon is wearing a similar attire as Stefan, just with the lower boots and his sword is limping on its place, while Stefan's is firmly attached close to his body.

Stefan chuckles on his brothers comment. "If there was a girl with me in my bedroom," he tries to keep up with his brother, but the words escape his throat rather shyly, "You would have known."

He turns to leave before Damon can see his flushed face.

Damon barks a laugh. Stefan can hear his brothers footsteps closing on him, when Damon slaps him on the back with an open palm and says through a chuckle, "There's no doubt, brother," and Stefan can't figure out is his voice encouraging or mocking. "But you do realize you're walking in a wrong way?" he knits his brow together.

Stefan hums amused. "Wrong, brother," he shakes his head, carving a grin on his lips, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

"And where is that?" Damon asks curiously, like they're playing some sort of a game. Like when they were children.

"On my way to see our mystery girl, of course."

"Oh, so you can flirt with her some more?"

Upon hearing his comment Stefan stops walking and Damon almost bumps into him with his shoulder. There's a confused expression on Stefan's face as Damon watches him carefully, searching for any signs of confirmation.

"What in the Gods name are you talking about?" Stefan asks him, completely composed.

"You're smitten by her, in some weird way," Damon comments, waiting for Stefan's face to twitch and give him up, "You couldn't keep your eyes off of her last night."

Stefan tries his best not to show Damon that he is right, his eyes were glued to the girl the entire time, but not for the reasons his brother might think. She's a.. _mystery._

Damon enjoys women and wine, Stefan enjoys feeling helpful and solving mysteries.

"She doesn't seem to mind," Damon continues, "Her eyes were on you all the time as well."

"She was looking for a place in my body to stick a sword in," Stefan comments, not allowing himself further thoughts about this girl, this strangers, this nameless creature his men locked in the dungeon, "I have no romantic notions of her, either."

Damon pulls another smirk across his face, the skin in the corner of his cheeks ripping a little, "She's not a girl you fall in love with. But there really is no difference between a whore and the girl you find in front of your door when it comes to having a company in the bedroom."

Stefan looks at him with disgust. For a moment he can't believe his words, his proposition, until he remembers - it's Damon. Of course he would propose something similar. To him that's all she is, a piece of meat he gets to use as he pleases because she's lower than him on the society's pyramid of importance.

To Stefan she's so much more. There's a labyrinth on her skin drawn with the invisible ink, her flesh holds unspoken words, her mind is a hidden box and even though he's not interested in her heart he's sure it hides secrets of its own.

He doesn't want her in his bed, he wants inside of her mind.

Stefan shakes his head at his brothers words. "The last thing this girl expects is kindness," he narrows his eyes at Damon, "So that's exactly what I'm going to give her."

Damon stays quiet for a moment and Stefan takes it as his chance to leave. He turns from his brother and starts walking in the direction opposite of him.

"It makes sense for a kind king to use kindness as his weapon," Damon shouts after him, "But don't forget brother, kindness is a double egged sword."

* * *

She feels the damp ground under herself with the tips of her fingers. They fall into the muddy ground like they would fall through clouds - easy and gently. But unlike with clouds she doesn't reach the other side, the ground starts closing under her fingers, clasping them. She pulls them out and wraps them in her rags.

It's dark, she can't see anything. From time to time she hears whispers and scratches but she's too afraid to call to see if she's alone down there or does she have company. She's not sure she even wants to know.

She fell before the gates and the guards made her crouch in mud and now she can't feel even an inch of her skin which isn't covered with mud. Some of it is fresh so it peels off easily, but some of it has been there for such a long time she's not sure it can get off. It's part of her as much as her skin is. She didn't have a bath in such a long time, seems like forever.

She tries to pull her torn rags down her thighs to hide their exposure, to hide the bruises and the scars which she's not sure are even visible under all the mud, but if he ever comes down here she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how broken she truly is.

She can still feel his eyes on her. On her face, on her breasts, on her legs, and no one has ever looked at her like that. With so little disgust. He didn't look at her like he wants the thing all men want, he didn't even look at her like he pities her, he looked at her like..

_..like he wants to unravel her._

And his look scared her even though it was pleasant.

She wants to wash his look off of her more than anything but there's no water and no soap and there's never anything she needs because she lost it because they took it because it doesn't matter because no matter how you turn it it's gone.

The tips of her fingers touch her hair and she can feel how wet it is how muddy it is and there are tears in her eyes because it's been years since her mothers fingers were in her hair, braiding it in the yard, under the apple tree in early Fall.

She's so cold, so, so, so cold, but at the same time so happy because it has been so long since she's been inside of someones home, but in the same time she wants to die.

She can't die yet, though, there are things she has to take care of first. And when she does she will grow wings and fly up in the sky and never look down again, never look down at the filth and disappointment and despair and loss and nothingness. She will be lost in the richness of her thoughts and her wishes coming true.

She sees a flicker of light in the darkness, far, far away, but it's getting closer and the thud of footsteps on the ground is getting louder.

She comes out of her corner, closer to the bars, and sees three pairs of legs coming her way. When the light falls on her face she goes back to her corner in the darkness, trying to hide her bare skin until she tears the little rags she has on her body. They fall on the ground and she gasps when she notices her legs are bare, completely bare, and she whimpers in shame.

They stop in front of her cage, her prison. She can see his green eyes like two emerald gems in the darkness, searching for her. After some time he exhales and tells the guards to leave. They look at him confused but listen nevertheless. They put one of the torches on its appointed place in the wall and turn to leave.

He had come to seen her. Why? To watch her cry, to see her beg, to point and laugh? She won't do either of those things, and if he points and laughs there's not much she can do about it but endure.

He moves to the wall opposite of her cage and sits down on the ground. He puts his knees in the air, bringing his legs closer to his body.

She watches him closely, trying to see the true intention behind his action. But he just slumps his arms over his knees and stares in her direction, watching like he can see her even though she knows he can't see anything but darkness.

"What's your name?" he asks after few minutes of sitting in silence.

He knows she's there, there's nowhere else she could have went.

She doesn't respond for quite some time, and when she does she says, "Where's the king?"

He exhales tiredly even though she's sure he had a good night sleep in his chambers, in his huge bed with silky sheets and big cotton pillows and covers made out of wool. He rubs his creased forehead and responds, "Haven't we already established I'm the king?" he doesn't sound too happy about it, she notices.

"You can't be him," she gets on her knees, putting her palms on the ground, "The king is old," not young, "He has black, evil eyes," not beautiful green ones, "He has a crooked nose and a gray beard," not smooth, beautiful face, "He's fat and short," not lean and tall.

She crawls over to the bars and sits next to them, leaning her head onto the wall. She's so hungry and so thirsty and so tired and there's no escape from all of those things.

"Ah," he says, "You're referring to my father."

_Yes, of course,_ she thinks, _his father._

"Yes," she nods, her forehead scraping against the wall, "I want to see your father."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," he brushes her off quickly, "Since he's dead."

"What?" No, no, no, she was supposed to kill him. She was supposed to put a sword through his heart, twirl the blade in his flesh and watch him bleed before her eyes.

"For over a year now," he says with no emotion in his voice. "Now," he comes closer to the bars, sitting right across from her, "Will you tell me why you wanted to kill him?"

"Why would I?" she keeps looking at the ground, disappointed by this fact. She's been waiting for so long, preparing, gathering the courage. How could have she not known that the king is dead? Stupid, stupid child. "Where's the point in it now, if he's already dead?"

"Why won't you tell me your name, then?" he asks gently.

"Why do you need my name?"

"So I can take you home," he responds.

She manages enough strength to laugh out loud. "There's no home," she raises her look to his face only to catch him already looking at her.

He's staring at her eyes in the darkness of her surrounding and the darkness of her skin and he looks like he wants to drown in them, in her ordinary, brown, tired eyes.

"There hasn't been home for a while now," she swallows those words, but he manages to catch them nevertheless.

"Then let me help you."

She laughs again. "How can you possibly help me?" she finds it amusing. She would like to see him try.

"My father..," he says, but decides to take the conversation in the other direction, "I've been trying to fix things, out there. I've been trying to make the world a better place," his voice is warm and all of a sudden she doesn't feel so cold anymore.

But she laughs at his words, and she doesn't stop laughing for a while until her voice becomes silent, barely audible, and her laugh hurts him because she's laughing at his actions, because she doesn't believe in them, and neither does she believe in his words.

"You can't fix things," she says, "And you can't make the world a better place. You can help few people, in your position maybe even hundreds, but someone will always be left out. And that one person will breed rage and misery and from their madness new madness will be born and it will spread like a plague and the world will never be a better place because one person can't fix all of the damage one person can create, let alone thousands of them."

After her words he stays silent and his eyes fall on the ground. She closes her eyes while her head is still pressing onto a wall and some time passes before he speaks again, "What happened to your dress?" he asks.

She covers her thighs with her hands and raises her eyes to his and says the only words she can find, "Didn't your mother tell you it's impolite to stare?"

He keeps looking at her and she can see his lips trembling, his eyes hungry, devouring her and she's afraid, she's afraid he actually will do something similar like take pleasure in her cries and for some reason she doesn't want him to hurt her and she doesn't know why.

She's not afraid of death.

"Will you tell me your name name?" he asks once again.

"If I do, the mystery will be gone."

Her words paint a smile on his face and it's so bright and so beautiful and

_so_

_so_

_so_

_so_

breathtaking

like a butterfly clapping its wings in front of your eyes

and his smile makes the corners of her lips go upwards.

"Guards," he yells, and the smile from his face disappears and his eyes are unreadable.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asks silently, there's fear in her voice and maybe death is not as welcome as she thought it is, and maybe, just maybe she wants to live.

He stays silent and gets on his feet and when the guards come he whispers something to one of them. They unlock her cage and get her on her feet and as they drag her out of her cage he's avoiding her look and she closes her eyes, allowing herself to slip away.

* * *

_**AN: Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews on the first chapter, and I hope you have enjoyed this one just as much :)**_


	3. Chapter 3

_I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't I don't I don't,_ she thinks as they drag her down the hallway, away from her cage, away from the king with gentle eyes and warm voice. This new realization hits her hard, it comes out of nowhere, it jumps on her and abuses all of her senses, it abuses her mind because it's unexpected, unknown and she doesn't know how to deal with it. What is there to live for? She never lived at all. Her life ended four years ago when all of the plans for her future were caught in flames, when she was forced to run, to hide, to plan, to wait, to feel anger and hunger for revenge grow inside of her more and more with each passing year. Her life is nothing more but a carefully and slowly developed plan for revenge and now when it's gone what more is there? She was supposed to greet death but now when it's staring her in the face she's trying to look away. _I want to live._

She closes her eyes and notices a pair of green eyes watching her from the other side of her closed eyelids. He's watching her with his warm look, with his beautiful eyes, so beautiful it's almost hard to look at them, they're violating her with its beauty and intensity and she doesn't understand why is he there, why is he in her most private thoughts, looking from inside out, from her perspective, and why did she let him.

When she realizes she can't do it anymore, she opens her eyes only to notice they're not pulling her towards death, but in the completely other direction. They're not leading her towards the yard, in the outside world, they're not going to throw her out in the rain, on the easy, damp ground and cut her head off, they're pulling her deeper into the building. She knows because the hallways are decorated and she can hear the murmur of people coming from inside of the closed doors and this is not the way she came through last night when they were leading her towards the dungeon.

She inhales a fistful of air. The air here is fresh, not stale like it is in the city. She wonders is this why people like living on the court so much, because the air is fresh and nice and you enjoy breathing unlike in the city where you think you're going to die with every inhale of air. When she inhales her lungs tickle for more. So she gives them what they're asking for, she's breathing fast and hard, gathering air like a hungry child.

Finally they stop in front of a room and one guard yanks the door open violently and the other pushes her inside with an equal force. They're clearly unhappy with the task their lord has given them.

She nearly falls on the floor. She can feel cold tiles under her feet and it takes her only a moment to realize she's in a bathroom. A luxurious bathroom with bronze tiles and golden sink and golden tub even the lightning in the room seams golden and her eyes wander all over the room until they fall on two women sitting on a red couch without the support.

One of them stands up and smiles before saying, "Welcome," she's dressed in nice clothes, rich fabric, probably cotton, but she's not royalty. She's a maid, a helper on the court. The other one is dressed the same but she doesn't stand up, only politely nods.

She doesn't understand what's going on, she just looks at them, half startled, half curious, and she can feel tears tugging on her eyes because the feeling is back - the feeling of not knowing what will happen next. For such a long time she had a plan to follow through and now she's back to being a scared little girl with nowhere to go, just four years older.

The woman standing up notices the fearful look in her eyes and says, "Our lord told us everything about your arrival," she explains.

_Funny, because he told nothing of it to me,_ she thinks but doesn't say anything.

"I'm still not sure what I'm doing here," she says weakly, her throat begging for some water because the words barely claw their way out of her throat.

"Silly girl," the woman that was sitting stands up and she notices she is slightly older than the other one. There are wrinkles on her face, and her hands have bruises on them, and she doesn't smile like the other one does. "We're in a bathroom," she gestures around herself, "You're here to have a bath."

"Please miss," the younger one says with a pleading voice, "Our lord gave us clear instructions," she says those words but they do not carry fear. She doesn't fear of being punished if she doesn't get the task done. She says those words with respect, like she will look down on herself if she lets her lord down. "Let us take your clothes and give you a bath. Let us do our job," her voice is warm, motherly and she never takes a smile off of her face.

The woman is so kind to her, no one but her mother has ever been so kind to her, and she doesn't want to be a nuisance, she doesn't want to cause problems, so she nods, agreeing to let them do their job.

They take her clothes off of her even though she's half naked. The older woman wrinkles her nose at her rags as she throws them on the floor. They're dirty and smell unpleasantly but she has gotten used to the smell and the feeling of them on her body. She wonders what will happen to them and she's not even sure why is she so sorry to see them go. The younger one fills the tub with water and they guide her inside of the golden tub. When her skin comes in contact with water she sighs in relief, sinking herself deeper into that heavenly nectar, enjoying the mix of hot and cold on her skin and it feels so inexplicable. After only few seconds the water becomes brown and the older woman wrinkles her nose again and the younger one giggles and they pull the cork out so that the dirty water can go away and so that the fresh one can take its place. They use soap, so much soap, a bucket full of soap and it smells like lavender and their hands smell like lavender and she smells like lavender and soon enough the whole room is engulfed in the scent of lavender. They use sponges and cloths to clean the dirt off of her skin and it takes them literally hours to do so. She can feel the younger woman's fingertips on the top of her head, on her scalp, in her hair, cleaning it, massaging it, her fingers feel so heavenly, they go into her head and her brain turns into mush.

They replace old water with the new one couple of times until she's clean. She's so clean so perfectly clean and she can see her skin, her bruised, scratched pale skin and she smiles at the sight of it. They wrap her into towels, her body and her hair, and they try to dry her long, brown hair. And while they're doing so she wonders because _she doesn't she doesn't she doesn't_ understand why is this boy, this man, this king with beautiful pair of eyes so kind of her and why is he a constant resident of her thoughts and since when did her build himself a home on her mind?

They clean her nicely and everything still smells of lavender and she preys nothing ever stops smelling of lavender and they dress her in robes and brush her hair.

"We will escort you to your room now, miss," the younger one tells her, "If you promise you will behave we won't call the guards, but oh miss, you have to promise!" she tells her.

She's so kind, so very kind, and she doesn't want to put her in an awkward situation so she promises that she will behave.

"They can be awfully rough," younger one comments and the older one huffs, "You know how men are!"

_Unfortunately, she does._

They escort her to her room which is across the bathroom, slightly to the left. It is large, maybe even larger than the house she grew up in. There's a large bed in the middle of the room, with canopy and silky covers and big, fluffy pillows. There are two couches with no support and pillows on them and there are chairs covered in gold as well as tables with fruit on them. She can feel apple juice running down her throat and she licks her lower lip. The crack on it stings when the tip of her tongue comes in contact with it. There's a writing table in the corner of the room, with a stack of papers and a feather stuck in a bottle of ink. There's a wardrobe only few feet away from the table. The glass door to the balcony is what catches her attention.

"We left some clothes for you on the chair," the older woman points to the chair.

"We will leave you now," the younger one continues, a smile still plastered to her face, "The lord will come to see you soon, as soon as we inform him that you are ready."

And they're both out of the door.

She walks over to the chair and takes a dress in her hands. It's so beautiful, so pleasantly beautiful. Red with golden flowers embodied on the it. It feels so light between her fingers and she wonders what happened to her rags. She never wore a dress like this. Only ladies wear dresses like those. She puts it back on the chair and sits on the couch across of it.

She feels uncomfortable. She feels out of place.

There's a knock on the door.

_One knock._

_Two knocks._

_Three knocks._

She doesn't answer so he allows himself enough freedom to enter the room without an invitation. She doesn't protest, it's his room after all. Everything here is his. Does that make her his as well?

She stands up.

"Oh," he gasps, "You're not dressed yet," he notices, "I can come back when you are."

"I'm not sure I ever will be," she responds.

He crinkles his nose. "Is there something wrong with the dress?" he narrows his eyes.

"No.." _I'm the problem,_ she wants to say, "It's just - " she doesn't know how to express herself. _It's just too much. I'm not your property. You don't have to dress me in pretty clothes because I'm not going to dance at the sound of your music._

He thinks he understands. "I see," is all he says, "How did you enjoy your bath?"

She says nothing. _It was refreshing, thank you,_ is what she wants to say, but the words never find their way out of her mouth.

He lowers his head and smiles an amused smile.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asks curiously and he doesn't know how to explain, "Did you bring me here to be your whore?" is the only thing which pops into her mind.

He raises his eyes and there's a disgusted look in them. It hurts.

"Because I would rather die than sleep in your bed," she decides to hurt him back. There's nothing to lose.

He swallows. "Do I disgust you that much?" he asks out of curiosity.

"More than you can imagine," she lies. She's angry. She's confused. She's disappointed.

He nods thoughtfully and she regrets her words. Something gets stuck inside of her throat.

"I'm not interested in your body," he states firmly, his voice emotionless. She misses the warmth. She's the one who took it away.

"Then what are you interested in?"

A wicked smile appears on his face. Like someone took all of the brightest colors and splashed it across his face, leaving nothing but sheer light that hurts your eyes.

"Why? Why did you want to kill my father?" he asks, his curiosity stronger than him.

"All this trouble to get an answer to one question?" she doubts him.

"Not exactly," he shakes his head, not expecting her to understand. He's not sure he understands.

There's something in this girls eyes, something so beautiful and locked and unexplored that he can't help but wonder what hides under the surface. If the outside is so captivating, how the inside must look like.

She watches him half curious, half confused, but neither of them makes a move, neither of them says anything, they just stare at each other in silence until it becomes uncomfortable.

"I want answers," he breaks the silence that settled between them, "To that question and many more. I want your fears and your secrets, your thoughts and your questions," she blinks too many times in a minute, "I want to know what's going on inside."

She stays quiet for a moment, and when she speaks her voice is silent, like a whisper, and hoarse so hoarse he thinks it pains her to speak. "Is that all I am?" she asks regretfully, "A toy for you to play with?"

_No, no, no, that's not what he meant at all._

"Someone to entertain you in your hours of boredom with stories about unhappy life, sad beginning and what looks like an even sadder ending?" she mentally slaps herself for hoping, for thinking she could be _something more something different something special,_ her mind is a tornado of swears only she can hear, only hurting her insides, "You want to feast on my thoughts like an animal on an open wound?"

Hope is a powerful weapon and it often backfires so she puts it in her imaginary pocket for other occasion.

She was so stupid, so stupid to think..

..she doesn't know what she thought. What she wanted. What she hoped for. She doesn't want to be here but she has nowhere else to go.

"No," he shakes his head wildly, "That's not - " _that's not what I meant,_ is what he wants to say.

But he doesn't know what he meant. What he wants from her, from himself, from anybody.

Silence envelopes them and they become prisoners of time which doesn't move, only endures.

"Your face," he says after quite some time, "There are scars on it," he notices, "What happened?"

_She hoped she hoped she hoped_ he wouldn't notice them, or that he wouldn't ask even if he does notice them. She was so silly to think he would notice the difference in her appearance, to notice there's no more dirt or blood on her body or that her hair is long and wavy, to compliment her non existent beauty and to become blind to her pale skin or the fact she's poor and alone and bitter, to become blind to her scars and bruises and all of the little reminders how cruel life is, how it pushed her back and forth, up and down.

Her thoughts are a cosmic joke, they laugh at themselves, at her silliness to even have enough courage to think them, they laugh inside of her mind and her insides tremble when his warm look finds a way to envelop her skin and soon enough she's encapsulated in his pupil and she's _his his his_ but he doesn't want her and she's not sure she wants herself either.

"You happened," she says bitterly, touching the little red lines on her cheeks, crack on her lips and the open wound above her eyebrow. He chokes on her words and his look becomes confused and he's petrified that somehow he had hurt her that she thinks he had hurt her because he would _never ever ever_ do that. She notices the look on his face and bites the healthy side of her lip, feeling guilty for her words, so she corrects herself, "Your guards are not the most gentle creatures," she tries to be polite as he is, "None of the men are," her heart pumps too much blood and she shifts her look away from him before saying, "Most men are animals."

_No, they're not,_ he thinks to himself, _let me prove it to you let me show you let me whisper it to you let me show you the world let me grab onto the stars and take you to the moon let me kiss you and hug you and do all of the things I should not even be thinking of._

He never says those words because she's a girl they found in front of his door and he's the king and the world is not there yet to accept that. It has to take million and million more spins until it's ready.

"To understand my mind," she says absently, "You first have to understand my heart," she raises her look to him, locking her big, shimmering eyes on his, "And that's the part of me you will never have access too."

He crumbles on the carpet and he doesn't know why.

"Very well," he tries to stay composed because he's the king and it's his duty and he should kill her or punish her or make her leave but _he can't he can't he can't_ so he says, "I'll leave you to get dressed. I'll send someone to bring you some food."

When he turns to leave her lips part and she says, "Elena," so silently like it's a secret.

He turns on his heel to face her. "Excuse me?"

"My name is Elena," she says because he was so generous and she feels like she has to repay him somehow and the only way she can think of is by giving him something he wants, a piece of her, exposing herself, making herself to be a little bit less of a secret.

"Elena," he says her name. 5 letters claw up his throat, tickle his tongue until he parts his lips and they fall out of his mouth on a waterfall in the form of music notes and she realizes her name never sounded so delicious until now. No one has ever said her name like that, with so much expectations and sweetness like her name can do great things be great things like it can conquer the world.

"Does a lady have a last name?" he asks eagerly.

She blushes slightly. "Please, I'm no lady," she whispers, slightly honored he would give her such a title, especially after he had seen her skin painted with mud and blood and covered with rags older than both of them are, "I do, I do have a last name," a smile attacks her lips, pulling the corners of them up, "But you will have to work for it," she says playfully, with a tone she didn't even know she possesses, didn't even know has enough strength to use.

He smiles right back at her, and out of curiosity she asks, "Can I have your name?"

"My name?" he asks surprised because no one calls him by his name anymore, he's either king or lord or brother, come to think of it Damon has never called him by his name, it was always little brother.

The skin on her face becomes pale because she worries she had stepped over the line.

"Stefan," he responds.

_Stefan,_ his name possesses her thoughts and soon enough every one of them begins and ends with his name, some of them consist solemnly of his name, and he is everywhere under her feet, on her skin, she can feel him on her fingertips in the air, there's so much privacy in ones name and her heart melts and falls down her body, in her heels and toes when she parts her lips and whispers his name. "Stefan," she nods.

He smiles again, clearly satisfied by the path this conversation took and now he's ready to leave and she, help her god, she doesn't want him to.

His fingers fall on the knob and before he opens the door he turns his head slightly, not enough to make eye contact but enough to see her with the corner of his eyes and says, "You look absolutely beautiful."

And he's gone.

And she's glad.

Because her face flushes and she never knew blush can actually burn ones skin.

* * *

He goes to his room and slumps himself over the chair, pulling his fingers all the way through his hair.

His head is swarming with thoughts and they are incoherent and overlap each other and her name is jumping up and down his brain alongside adjectives to describe her but they're never enough, never good enough to truly describe her and he worries he will never find the words to do it, to put her existence on paper, to let words linger in the thin air and it saddens him that humanity never thought there could ever be something so _important_ so they never bothered with thinking of words to describe it.

Her skin is clear and her hair is clean and she's beautiful and she was almost naked in front of him and he wanted to melt into her being. There are bruises and scars on her skin, all over her body but he did not want to mention them, he did not want to admit that he was looking, so he only commented on the visible ones.

She's like a doll made out of porcelain, her skin pale and cracked under the weight of time, her hair long and wavy and shiny and her eyes big and magical and there's something behind them, a whole other world and he wants in it, he wants to escape from here, he wants her and he wants to be her and he wants her to be his.

Everything smells like lavender and he turns into a bar of soap and start building himself a home on her skin. He tickles her with bubbles and makes her relax with his lovely scent and she's so beautiful and so naked and so smooth and his fingertips are too rough for her.

_Elena._

Like a goddess. Like the sun. She's too bright for his darkness and his eyes hurt but he can't stop looking at her.

She's made out of secrets and unanswered questions and playful looks and beauty she's not even aware she possesses and he wants to show her, he wants to be a mirror, he wants to be an open book or a painting, he wants her to know how impeccable she is.

He wants her to give him his breath back.

* * *

_**AN: Oh my, my so many unanswered questions and secrets and feeling neither of them are supposed to have.**_


	4. Chapter 4

He exits his room and heads for breakfast when one of the guards informs him his brother has been looking for him. So instead of joining everyone at the dining hall for a Sunday breakfast he heads to his brothers chambers. He knocks three times out of courtesy before he hears Damon's voice to come in.

He's lying on his unmade bed, still in his sleeping attire, and there's a naked girl next to him. One of the whores, probably, even though Stefan hated calling them like that, but there was no other word for those women, and he wasn't creative enough to come up with one.

Damon dismisses her from her duties, the girl that can't be more than twenty years old, with big green eyes and blond locks bouncing on her shoulders, so she gets up from the bed, takes her flimsy dress that looks more like a silky robe than a dress and greets Stefan with _my lord_ after she throws the dress over her shoulders.

Women are beautiful, is what he always thought. With their smooth skin, thin waist, long legs, curves, especially breasts. Whenever he would see one with Damon, which was often, he would think how lucky his brother is to enjoy such beauty so freely, without thinking, without any questions asked. He enjoyed the sight of them, the taunting look in their eyes, slight curve in the corners of their lips that slowly stretches into a full blown smile, their hair falling over their shoulders, arch in the small of their back, their curves which look like they were made for another's hands to fall on.

But there was always something missing with those girls. No matter how hard he tried to enjoy them like every other man on the court did, he couldn't, because they didn't have that spark in their eyes which screams love or the gentle touch which shows utter affection.

He couldn't hold a piece of their soul on the palm of his hand because they didn't have any, at least not for him, at least not for men who were considered their job. Maybe those women had someone with whom they were able to share that connection he desperately wanted and maybe those women didn't have a choice when it comes to pleasing others. So the least he could do was let them go of their duties in his case, making both of them a favor.

He remembers his fifteenth birthday when his father sent him a whore to finally become a man and _he wouldn't he couldn't he didn't want to_ because she wasn't someone in whose eyes he could see future. There was fear in her eyes that she will be punished for disappointing the kings son, but after he explained it to her she agreed to keep his secret if he's going to keep hers.

Stefan politely nods at the girl before she opens the door of Damon's bedroom and slips into the hallway.

"You wanted to see me?" Stefan asks his brother once they're left alone.

Damon pulls himself in a sitting position before he jumps off of the bed.

"Oh, yes," he takes one grape between his fingers and plops it into his mouth, "I've heard what you did."

Stefan knits his brows together. "What I did?" he asks confused and Damon nods, "Care to share?"

"Oh, come on," Damon waves him off casually, "The girl, I know she's in one of these rooms, everyone are talking about it."

"I never meant to keep it a secret," Stefan brushes him off with equal measure.

Damon snorts. "And why is she here?" he rolls his eyes before launching back on the bed.

"Because she has nowhere else to go."

Damon watches him for few moments before answering, "There are a lot of people with nowhere to go. Are we going to store all of them here?"

His brothers silence is an answer good enough for him.

"Then tell me, what's so different about this girl?"

More silence. He doesn't have an answer for himself, let alone anyone else.

"She was already here."

"What do you want from her?"

"Nothing!" Stefan furrows his brows, aggravated by his brothers questions, "Maybe I just want to help her."

"Do you want her in your bed?"

"No!"

Damon stares at him, "Wrong answer, little brother," he shakes his head.

Stefan glares back at him, speechless, not knowing what Damon wants him to say but at the same time knowing exactly what he wants him to say.

"Don't fall in love with her, Stefan."

"I wasn't planning to," he responds, angry Damon would even bring up such a thing.

"Yeah," Damon says silently, locking his eyes with Stefan's, "I think that's the problem."

* * *

He had found himself begging for silence again. King shouldn't beg for anything, he should be able to get it before he thinks he wants it. But Stefan knew not even his position can buy him what he craved for years. For his whole life.

Money can't buy silence, which is quite ironic, since it can buy the truth, it can buy people's voices and opinions. Maybe it can't change them or even shape them, but it can influence them. Money can't buy silence in the sense in which he needs it.

His voice usually only makes the noise grow louder, which portrays the power his position holds. It can't make people quiet, but it can make them speak louder. Sometimes it was useful, but mostly it was tragic.

"I think it's completely and utterly ridiculous," Rebekah voices her opinion.

The news about Elena staying on the court with them had spread in a matter of hours. When he woke up the next morning everyone knew about it, and not everyone were so welcoming of the news even though all of them knew there's nothing they could do.

Rebekah was one of the rare relatives from his father side that he had liked. They basically grew up together since she had lost both of her parents in a really young age and the king was the closest family she was left with. Most of the times she was nice and pleasant to be around, plus, she was very nice to look at with her silky blond hair only little lighter than the sun itself and deep blue eyes which she and Damon shared. The two even held the same look behind those eyes. Maybe it was something to bind them into a family, something other than blood, while her and Stefan shared none of the similarities in their looks. She was tall, maybe too tall for a lady, and she was also very slim, which was visible through her custom made dresses. But she also had a sly smile on her lips which only his fathers side of the family possessed, smile so poisonous that it could kill you if you kept staring at it.

Rebekah also paid high respects to royalty and their rules so her and Stefan rarely saw eye to eye. As children, while playing, they didn't need to, even though it was obvious she was always more keen to his brother than him.

"Oh, it might be fun," Katherine announces enthusiastically, "It's been so long since we had anyone new on the court," she claps with her palms like a child.

Katherine was absolutely beautiful, so beautiful she's almost hard to look at, but at the same time she's luring you in with her more than pleasant looks. Katherine is his mothers sisters daughter and she's here for a visit. A long one from the looks of it. Her mother thought it would be good for her to spend some time on the court, maybe it could make her more serious, push her to grow up once she sees how other ladies act. But no matter who Katherine is surrounded with, nothing can stop her playful nature and childlike manners.

Stefan smiles at her and her excitement even though he knows Elena would be like a new toy for her to play with if she got an access to her. Katherine smiles widely at him, her red cheeks adapting more blush so her skin seems like it's on fire, her snowy white skin. Her big, heavy curls jump over her shoulder as she jumps a little on her chair happily, satisfied Stefan has greeted her with a smile, like he has ever done anything else.

"Well I for one can't wait to meet her," Caroline says silently, knowing her opinion doesn't mean much to anyone but Stefan, so when she voices it she dares to do it only through a whisper.

Caroline and Stefan are best friends since childhood. She grew up in the first house next to the court, and her father was the head guard of the king. His father never approved of him being so close to a girl, let alone having her as a best friend, but he never said anything publicly because Caroline's father was more than his guard, he was one of his close friends, and strangely he respected that friendship. Caroline was also very pretty, with sky blue eyes and hair blond like one of those flowers in the early spring which he could see from the balcony of the court. Maybe if he didn't know her for so long, maybe he could marry her then, and if she didn't know him for so long maybe she would agreed to do so. But there's nothing but friendship between them even though his mother often said that's the best base for marriage. His mother was very fond of Caroline, maybe because she always secretly wanted a daughter of her own.

Caroline's mother died giving birth to her second daughter and her father died the same day Stefan's parents did, at the same place, trying to defend them. So Stefan had let Caroline and her little sister move in with him because that's the least he could have done, even though he did it for selfish reasons as well - he wanted his best friend closer to him at all times. Being left alone Caroline accepted the generous offer.

Stefan gives her a smile for support and she smiles back which makes Rebekah roll her eyes privately, even though Stefan caught her every time. He creases his forehead at her gesture.

The girls go back to discussing the matter over Sunday breakfast, and Stefan stays silent because he's only going to get silence if he gives it to himself.

* * *

"My lord!" he hears a well known voice calling for him as he walks down the hallway towards his chambers.

He excused himself and let the ladies chat among themselves, hoping he will catch a moment of peace and quiet. No such luck, apparently.

"Miss Forbes," he says her name even before he turns around, "I already told you there's no need to call me like that."

They have been friends since forever, and in private they always allowed themselves to call each other by their first name. It felt forbidden, but also intimate, like something friends are supposed to do.

A smirk appears on her face, similar to Damon's, but yet, not enough evil to resemble Rebekah's.

"But I like it!" she laces her arm with his, "It sounds lovely," she smiles gently at him, removing the teasing smirk off of her face.

"Very well then," he replies, smiling back at her.

"I meant what I said, you know?" she says casually as they start walking down the hall in an unknown direction.

"Oh?" he gasps silently, "And what is that?"

"That I can't wait to meet her," she says, carefully watching as the lines of his face move, "She obviously is important to you."

His lowers his look on hers and when he moves his lips to speak she brushes him off quickly, "Don't give me that look," she laughs, "You can hide from everyone else on the court and you can hide from yourself, but you very well know that you can't hide from me," she gives him a knowing look, "There's something about that girl and maybe you don't even realize it but I want to see it for myself."

He closes his lips, preventing all of the words he wanted to say from coming out. He looks straight ahead and after few moments on silence he responds, "I'll go get her and meet you in the garden."

* * *

_One knock. _

_Two knocks._

_Three knocks._

This time she says he's free to come in.

He opens the door and steps in, seeing her standing near a window in the dress they had left for her.

Her hair is falling all the way over her back and the dress is so tight on her, on her breasts and waist and hips and she looks amazing so amazing he thinks his lungs are collapsing because there's no air. He tries to grasp for it.

Her eyes are big and a little tired, she looks like she hasn't gotten enough sleep and he worries she's not comfortable enough but doesn't find the strength to ask. When she notices the look in his eyes she lowers her head a little so he doesn't notice all the blush on her cheeks.

"There's someone I would like you to meet," he says and it catches her attention.

She agrees because it would be rude to refuse and she has been rude enough. She's also curious, she keeps going through all of the possibilities and after some time thinking doesn't come up with a solution.

They walk out and she follows him to the garden until she notices a girl standing near the pond. She's wearing a big green dress covered with yellow silk at some spots, especially in the middle, and it goes perfectly with her tan and smooth skin and sunny hair.

"Miss Forbes," Stefan calls for her and she joyfully walks over to them. She smiles at Elena's presence and Elena smiles back at her. "I would like to introduce you to Miss - " he stops mid sentence when he realizes Elena never gave him her last name and calling her by her first name might deepen Caroline's suspicions.

"Gilbert," Elena says, smiling at Caroline but giving Stefan a sideways glance.

_Miss Elena Gilbert._

"Oh my," Caroline giggles, "You have such a lovely voice," she compliments her and Elena blushes once again. "Doesn't she Stefan?" Caroline asks.

Elena's eyes pop out at the free way Miss Forbes is using kings first name, and Stefan stiffens beside her. When Caroline realizes what she had done, she puts her palm over her lips and giggles silently.

"Did I just call you by your first name in front of someone else?" she asks Stefan and Elena can see a smirk hiding behind her palm.

"I think you did," Stefan answers nervously.

"Well, she won't tell anyone, will you dear?" Caroline shifts her look to Elena and she shakes her head to confirm she won't tell a living soul.

She knows she shouldn't ask because it's none of her business and _she doesn't care she shouldn't care she doesn't want to care_ but it's stronger than her, "Are the two of you engaged?" she asks briskly.

Both of them burst into laughter and she realizes this is the first time she's hearing him laugh truthfully and she doesn't want him to stop she wants to make him laugh some more.

"He wishes," Caroline says through a laugh, linking her arm with Elena's and leading her down the path. She can hear Stefan's footsteps behind them and it takes her everything she has not to turn around to cast him a glance. "We're just friends, good friends, we've been friends for as long as both of us can remember," she hums.

Elena decides to push it. "But isn't that a solid foundation for marriage?"

Caroline's throat tightens and it takes her some time to respond, "It is, a very well one," she says seriously, "But it means nothing without the other things that make the package complete."

Her next question she asks curiously, the evidence of it visible in her voice, "Like what?"

Caroline jumps a little, showing her excitement. "Like mystery," she says sweetly, "And passion, even some secrets," she pushes few pebbles off her way with her foot, "Stefan and me have none of those. Plus, I would never want to be a queen."

"Correction," Stefan voices himself, "You wouldn't want to be my queen."

"Well, it isn't my fault you're so demanding," she brushes him off.

Elena chuckles and Caroline decides she likes her already. She would be good for Stefan, someone to challenge him.

"Funny how things work out," he says after catching up with them and standing by Elena's side, "Since my father used to think your father wants to marry you into our family."

"Well, with all due respect, your father was an idiot," Caroline huffs.

Stefan doesn't say anything to defend him and Elena takes that strange.

"He just didn't know he's watching over the wrong son. If my brother were the king I'm sure you would be eager to become a queen."

Caroline growls silently and Elena thinks how it's so not lady like and decides she likes Caroline.

"Let's not dwell on mistakes," he gives Stefan a warning look before shifting her attention to Elena, "Every woman falls for the wrong man at least once in her life."

"But isn't that what makes love so thrilling?" she directs her question to Caroline.

Caroline and Stefan share a look and after few moments of silence Caroline responds, "The forbidden aspect? Maybe. Most probably. But there's nothing thrilling about being wrong."

Elena decides she had said enough and that Caroline's words make sense. What was she thinking? How can being wrong ever be enjoyable?

"Do you like the dress I picked out for you?" Caroline decides to change the subject.

Her eyes fly down Elena's body to which he responds, "Oh, yes, thank you very much on your generosity."

Caroline smiles. "If I had seen you before picking out the dress maybe I would be able to pick something more suitable. I didn't even know where to go from. Fortunately, our lord here was able to provide me with enough details about your appearance."

She looks at Elena and notices a huge amount of blush on her face.

"My lord," they hear a child's voice behind them before the topic becomes more awkward.

"Well isn't it my favorite person in the world?" Stefan says sweetly, crouching down to be at the same height as the child, "Miss Alexia, what are you doing here?"

"I was taking a walk when I noticed you and my sister doing the same," her big blue eyes, maybe even a little too big for her head, fall on Elena and she shapes her strawberry colored lips in a letter _o_, "I wasn't aware someone else is in your presence," her blond curls hop on her back as she walks and Elena can see some similarities between her and Caroline, mostly in their posture.

"This is Miss Gilbert," Caroline introduces Elena to her sister.

Alexia smiles widely, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gilbert."

"Likewise," Elena smiles back at her.

Once again Alexia shifts her interest to Stefan, "Do you want to come with me to the flower field?"

Stefan gets on his feet, puts his hand out and Alexia puts her hand in his and they walk away.

"He's great with children, you know?" Caroline asks as they walk slowly behind Stefan and Alexia, "When he goes to town they run up to him with open arms and he greets them eagerly. There's no question, he's going to be an amazing father to his own children."

Elena watches him carefully as he walks down the path with the little girl, her hand still in his. She refuses to think about him as kind and nice and sweet but she can't help but wonder.

"He's trying, he's trying so much," Caroline goes on, "To patch everything his father has ripped apart."

And wondering climbs over the wall and falls on the right side of her mind and she thinks how Stefan is nothing like his father.


	5. Chapter 5

"So tell me," she says cheerfully, because she's feeling happy and she hasn't felt like that in years so she decides to make the best out of it, "How are you planning to make the world a better place?" she asks while walking next to him.

He came to her room and invited her for a walk which she gladly accepted because she was dying of boredom alone in her room, but she felt like she shouldn't complain. The day was wonderful, warm and sunny, it's been a while since they had one of those. There was on wind, only a delightful breeze, and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky.

When they brought her here she felt like that room is her prison. She had better conditions than if she were in an actual prison, but she felt like she was trapped inside of someone else's world. He left her alone there. He was the only person she knew on the court, even though barely, and he left her alone and her skin would itch and her thoughts were loud and she was screaming inside of her head which was falling apart.

But lately all of that changed, she started feeling comfortable in her surroundings. He would spend time with her. Sometimes she thought he spent every second of his free time on her. She met Miss Forbes, someone who was clearly important to him. She started feeling like she belongs there and she wasn't sure that's such a good thing.

Upon asking that question he looks at her, speechless. All of the words leave his mind and never find their way out of his mouth because she's so beautiful _so wordlessly unspeakably out of this world beautiful_ and he gets caught up in her pale skin and big eyes which are looking at him with so much expectation.

He shakes those thoughts out of his head and watches them as they stumble on the path in front of them, whirling in the wind, because he knows those thoughts don't belong to him, they shouldn't belong to him.

"My father wasn't much of a king," he starts talking, looking straight ahead. _He wasn't much of a man either,_ is what he wants to say but never does. "He enjoyed being a king. He loved the power, he loved the freedom to use that power any way he wanted. He thought he's more than a man, he acted like a God," he exhales loudly, making her shiver. "Of course, he loved being king in theory, never in practice. He never cared much, or at all. Sometimes I think he cared only for himself, even though he had his moments when he would care for others as well. Those moments were rare," he clears his throat through a cough, "That being said," he says, indicating that part of the conversation has ended, "Kingdom started deteriorating, year by year. People were living in poverty, they didn't have anything to eat, to wear, there were no jobs. When I was a child I didn't think about those things. I knew the chances of me becoming a king are low."

"How come?" she interrupts him.

"Oh," he says amused by the lack of her knowledge, "My brother was supposed to become a king after our father passed away, but he declined the throne. I'm afraid he inherited some bad traits from our father, but luckily he was aware of those, and he was aware he would be as bad of a king as our father was. So that made me king," he lowers his look down.

She ponders on this new fact. Maybe Stefan becoming a king was destiny. Maybe he was born to rule.

"As I grew older," he continues, "I realized that my fathers actions will destroy the kingdom. I mean, what is a king without a kingdom, and what is a kingdom if there are no people to rule over? Sadly, I wasn't able to do anything, not until I was crowned," he looks up at her and she notices passion in his eyes. He loves being king, but not for the sake of being one. He loves the power because he knows what he can do with it. There's a spark in his eyes as he continues, "People in the city believe king is untouchable, exactly what my father wanted them to think. He made them think he's a God, and he never shows his face. So I did the opposite," a smile creeps upon his face, "I went down there and at first people were weary, but with time they got used to having me down there. I wanted them to see I'm a man, just like them and that I want to help them and that together we can change things. I helped one man and that man helped another and the circle goes on," he takes his look off of her and looks straight ahead once again, "We're nowhere near done, though, we have so much work to do."

"How exactly do you help them?" she asks curiously, excitement evident in his voice.

"At first I would just talk to them, then I would give food to those who need it the most. Honestly, I was mostly helping them financially, to renew hospitals, open new job positions, but with time.."

"King who is a friend of the people," she says silently like she came up with some new revelation.

Confusion washes over his face. "Excuse me?"

She knits her brows together, trying to remember where did she hear that. "While I was traveling here I heard these two men talking. They were talking about a kingdom which will rise from the ashes and about a king who is more than a king, he is friends with the people," she remembers the conversation clearly, "I thought your father is still ruling the kingdom, so it never even crossed my mind, but.." she looks up at him, her eyes wide and smiling and glittering, "Do you think they were talking about you?"

His cheeks become red and this is the first time she sees him blush. He takes his eyes off of her, "They could have been, I suppose," he answers.

He is so humble and nice and generous and beautiful and she can feel her whole body burning under her dress because she's glad, she's _so so so so glad_ that he's the king. He wasn't there to help her, he couldn't have been. He was so young, too young. No one was there to help her, to stop it, to keep her from losing it all. But he will be there for others. He will be there for some other girl who finds herself in a similar position and he will help her.

Well, maybe he wasn't able to help her then, but he's helping her now.

She looks at him, carefully, with the corner of her eye. She looks at his sandy hair which looks golden under the sun, and those big jade green eyes, and he's so beautiful and she can't stop looking at him or thinking how attractive he is. She bores herself with those thoughts, those shallow and repetitive thoughts, but they won't leave her. He's beautiful in all the ways other men aren't, and he's not only attractive because of his outside features. He's attractive because of the way he talks and how his eyes glimmer with passion when he talks about something he loves and he's attractive because his heart is so big it's basically pouring out of his being into everyone who surrounds him.

And she could use a little bit of heart since hers is beating so weakly.

She caresses him with her look. She can see herself, she imagines herself pulling her fingers through his hair, then down his face, over the bridge of his nose. She wonders how he looks underneath his clothes, are there any scars on his chest or is his skin smooth.

Her metaphorical finger stops on his lips and she wonders what it would be like to kiss them. How do they taste? Feel? Are they smooth as the skin of his face is?

She wants to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him hard and deep and never let go.

She frowns at her thoughts. She can't do that. She won't ever be able to do that.

She thinks how he probably doesn't even want her to do that.

_Probably._

She wonders how did they come to this. _They were enemies they are enemies they are supposed to be enemies._ She wants revenge, she still wants it, she just forgot. It's boiling inside of her veins. It's hard to let go of something you have been thinking about for the last four years of her life. She has nothing else but revenge and the man who was supposed to pay is no longer here. What now?

Stefan took her off of her intended path, he made he forget why she's actually here. Should she kill the kings son now when she can't kill him?

_No, no, no,_ she thinks to herself. She looks at Stefan. She can't kill him.

_Why,_ a little voice in her head asks.

_Because she likes him._

And she shouldn't like him. _She can't like him she doesn't want to like him she wasn't supposed to like him_ and it could never _ever ever_ work.

But she does. She likes him and he makes her insides burn just by looking at him and hearing him speak and, oh help her God, she wants him.

She wants him in all the ways a woman wants a man and in all the ways she shouldn't want him. The two of them are made out of two completely different cloths.

If he touches her would she caught on flames? Would she burn or would she ravel in the fire of their own making? Would he destroy her or save her? When people think of fire they think of danger, forgetting fire also keeps them warm.

She wonders how much time did they spend in silence and what he's thinking about. Is he thinking about the same thing she is?

Does he like her too?

And just like that she's twelve years old again, sitting in the middle of a meadow, plucking petals of a flower. _He likes me. He likes me not._

"If you could only," he says, breaking the silence between them, and clearly struggling with words, "If you could only tell me where your home is, maybe I could take you there."

He wants her to go. He wants to get rid of her. Maybe he doesn't like her after all.

All the petals are gone and the last one was _he likes me not._

"Maybe I could help you," he says hardly.

"There's no home," she says with a husky voice.

"Where did you used to live then?"

"Oh," she gasps, "In a small house at the end of the road, on the edge of the city, near the forest. Everything was made out of wood and we had horses and other animals. We were a family. We had friends. The sky was orange and there was a river nearby. It was not so long away from here. It was in this city," she remembers the place where she grew up fondly before she furrows her brows, "That place doesn't exist anymore. If you went there all you would find are ruins, I suppose. I haven't been there in years."

"In this city?" he asks curiously, "Didn't you say you traveled here?"

"Yes," she locks her eyes with his, "I had to run. I had to get away from here."

She says those words with a certain amount of fear in her eyes and he wants to take that fear away.

"Will you ever tell me why did you want to kill my father?"

"Yes," she says firmly, "One day. If I told you now, the game would be over."

He stops walking and looks at her.

"Game?" he asks confused.

She stops walking as well and turns around to face him.

He can't believe she's the same girl he found in rags and mud few weeks ago. There are no words for how beautiful she is.

"Well yes," she says playfully, "All of this is a game for you, isn't it? Me being here. I run," she turns around and starts walking, "And you catch."

He smirks.

He would love to catch her.

* * *

_**AN: Well, someone is getting comfortable with each other. Maybe a little too comfortable?**_


	6. Chapter 6

"If you don't mind me saying, my lord," she knits her brows together, obviously nervous of what's to come, "But you don't seem very fond of your father," she gasps a little after the sentence escapes her lips.

He looks at her with interest because no one has ever asked him that question. He doesn't think anyone ever wondered.

This morning he brought her several new dresses, the ones Caroline picked out for her. She was right, now when she had seen Elena with her own two eyes she's more successful in picking out dresses that suit her better. He also offered to show her around the castle so she had put one of those dresses on, the one so tight around her waist and bosom that she could barely breathe, but she also knew all of the women on the court endure this and so will she. It's not like she can't handle the feeling of being squeezed, like someone filled her lungs with water then tied them up with rope - she experienced that feeling many times, more than she would like to admit and remember. The dress is green, deep green like leaves on the apple tree they had growing behind their house in the city, and there's a muslin the color of lemon covering the dress. Her arms are bare, she never had her arms bare, always covered with long sleeves or blazers or coats - even her night dress has sleeves. She feels too naked, too exposed, there's too much skin out in the open, even her breasts are visible and she feels like ripping it off of herself even though she knows no one will judge because that's how people dress. Because the parts of skin they decide to show are no longer intimate. And she would, she would have ripped it off if there wasn't for that look on his face. When he had seen her in that dress his lips parted like he wants to say so many things but he never found the right words, and somehow his silence was the best compliment out of them all. Especially when it was followed by the look in his eyes, look full of admiration and need and hunger and want, like he's going to devour her in the gentlest way possible. So she left it on, trying to find a new way to breathe, all because out of some reason she wanted his approval and his eyes on her and she wanted him to think she's beautiful.

She didn't know why and it scared her. The possibilities behind those thoughts and feelings scared her more than anything.

Her mother talked to her about love. Oh, she told her some beautiful stories. She told her love is like sun and moon and stars and a bucket full of happiness all mixed together. It's wonderful and brilliant and an adventure, because one moment it's a straight line, leading your heart to his on a string, and the next it's full of curves you didn't even see coming but you don't get lost because love is a feeling, it's an instinct, and just like blood knows which vein to go through to come to its destination, that's how you know how to move in the labyrinth of love. _"Love is a mother, a child, a woman standing on the beginning of forever. Love is a flower and air and all the clouds in the sky. It's magnificent, it's a bag full of gold and diamonds and smiles. Love is a touch, a whisper, a murmur in the crowd. Love is everything you ever wanted,"_ her mother told her. And since then she wanted love desperately and waited for it patiently. She was supposed to have it by now, she wants it, she's 16 years old and she's ready. She was supposed to fall in love with some boy from the city, he would ask her to dance and he would propose and they would _love love love_. Maybe love isn't for everyone. Maybe there's not enough love in the world. Or maybe the opposite, maybe there's too much love in the world and people don't know what to do with it. She _wants it wants it wants it_ she wants a boy and a house and to sew dresses for a living like her mother did and a pocket full of hope and love and light. She is supposed to be out there, not here, and she came to fear this is her labyrinth.

Because her mother also told her that's what love sometimes is. _Love is when you fear wanting it_. Love can be scary, fearsome, too big for you to handle. It can destroy you, tear you to pieces and then fix you up just so it can do it to you all over again. Love is climbing on a cliff and falling off of it and _falling falling falling_ and sometimes you never hit the ground. As wonderful as love can be, it can also be cruel.

She knows men do not love like women, and that they don't feel the same loyalty women do. Some people love endlessly, gently, selflessly. Some people carry love like a droplet of water on the palm of their hand. And some people love selfishly, their love destroys and ruins and burns and crumbles and you feed off of it until you burn with them. Nevertheless, love is love, and you can't choose the way you get it, and most of the times you can't choose the way you give it because to most it's in them, like the color of their eyes.

However you turn it love is fire, and the only question is will it burn you down or keep you warm.

Her mother never warned her love can be a mix of the two. She never told her you will cry and shiver and that your bones will rattle while you're climbing the stairs to the roof, but once you throw yourself off of it you will feel such relief because love is air and you're surrounded by it and for the first time in your life you can breathe properly. Love is fear and excitement and happiness and loss and despair and flesh wrenching pleasure all mixed into one. It's a bag full of unfulfilled dreams and hope that one day they will come true.

And she was afraid of that feeling because she can feel it creeping towards her, and it's not allowed. She's a poor girl without family and he's the king and the most she can be to him is his whore and she doesn't want that and she thinks he doesn't want that either.

She started caring for him too early, maybe even before she realized, the moment she had seen the pain behind those green eyes because that's the same kind of pain she had seen in hers the last time she had looked into a mirror, years ago.

He wants to make her feel at home and she knows she can't let her roots in this place.

She looks up at him after she notices he still hasn't answered her question and he's looking at her like that again - like she's a goddess.

* * *

He can't seem to take his eyes off of her. _He tries he tries he tries_ so much but he fails terribly. He tries to imagine the rags and the dirt but he can't and he starts to wonder were they ever there or was it all a part of his imagination. His mind playing tricks on him out of some unknown reason. She's far too beautiful too be dressed in rags and covered in dirt, even with the scars on her body he still hasn't mentioned seeing.

Elena, with her long chestnut hair, light in the dark and almost invisible on the daylight. Her hair, falling alongside her face, sometimes covering her rosy cheeks, sometimes an universe away from them. The smooth skin of her face with few scars that started healing - he wants to pull his fingertips alongside it, from her forehead to her toes. He wants to be a drop of water to slide down her skin, he wants to be soap for her skin to absorb him. Her eyes, sometimes so tired, like she lived for a few lifetimes, like she's hiding a soul older than the world itself behind them. And sometimes so full of life like she was born yesterday, like she's only starting to live. She's not too tall and not too small, she's just right.

His look falls on her lips and stays there longer than it should. In the early morning they're red, and in the evening they're pink, sometimes the color of peach. He wonders how they taste like, he wonders how her whole body tastes like.

He looks at her hands and notices a smooth skin there as well and he wonders, if she's been alone for so long, how did she survive without working? How could she possibly have a skin so smooth?

"My father wasn't a very likable man," he finally answers, "Just like he wasn't a very likable king. We never had a relationship, let alone a good one. When he wanted something, he took it," she exhales loudly at his words and he finds it amusing, "No matter what the price is."

She nods and lets the subject go. They continue walking down the empty, half lit corridors.

"Tell me a secret," she says abruptly.

He looks at her with curiosity. "Excuse me?"

"A secret, something no one else knows. Tell me something you want, something you want but are afraid to take, something you never told anyone before."

He glares at her half curiously, half surprised, because only two things come to his mind. He doesn't know how she would react to one, and he doesn't know how he would explain the other.

"You first."

He thinks how this was a very cowardly thing to do. A king, afraid of how a poor girl would react to his words.

She chuckles. "I have too many secrets and I'm afraid you wouldn't like any of them. I would never know which one to choose," she locks her eyes with his but he can barely see her as they walk through the dark part of the corridor. She stays silent until they reach the light again. "Also, if I told you my secrets this easily the game would be over and of what use would I be to you then."

He wants to tell her, he wants to tell her there is no game, not anymore. He doesn't want a mystery, he wants her, she is a mystery enough for him. That is her use. Her wonderful smile and the gentle look in her eyes. The blush on her cheeks and the shyness in the core of her being. Her strength and intelligence and the power to make him laugh. She is herself and that's all of the use she needs.

"I want to kiss you," he dares to say.

A smile fades away from her lips and he regrets his words but it's too late to take them back. He doesn't want to take them back. He's a stone, buried in one place, unable to move. The fire in her eyes goes off and the blush makes a guest appearance on her cheeks.

"My lord," she lowers her look, her voice jumping up and down. He shivers. "There must be something else you want more," she says silently.

"No," he says firmly, but she stays in place, "There is something I want equally."

This time she raises her look out of curiosity.

"Silence," he says, "Out of the two things I want the most there's only one you can provide me with."

Her eyes flare up again. "I can give you silence. I can be silent," her voice never stops jumping, out of fear, out of excitement.

He smiles lightly. "I never said I want silence from you," he puts his thumb under her chin, keeping her head from falling down again, making her look him in the eyes, "You being silent in my presence is the last thing I would want."

"A kiss, then," she says, but something gets stuck in her throat, "Why don't you take it?"

He stops smiling. "I want you to give it to me."

Silence falls over them like darkness and it keeps pressing onto their bodies like a weight neither of them can hold.

"I do not want to take it from you. I want you to want it as much as me that you're willing to kiss me on your own," her eyes study him as he moves his thumb from her chin and pulls it over her lower lip. So soft, so full. "Maybe one day," he pulls his thumb from her lip and steps away from her. He turns around and starts walking in the direction they were headed to.

She captures his wrist with her fingers, making him stop walking and turn to her.

He turns on his heel, her nails digging into his skin, and there's a look of fear mixed with excitement in her eyes. She makes a step towards him and stands before him.

"Maybe now," she whispers.

Before he knows it her lips are on his and she's kissing him and he's kissing her and he forgets who they are or where they're at and that someone might catch them any minute now.

When he remembers he doesn't care.

Because their lips are colliding and she tastes like sunshine.

He puts his hands on her hips, his fingertips gently sinking into her skin through the fabric of her dress, and they stagger back. Her back presses against a stone cold wall and he falls on her.

And all Hell breaks loose.

Demons and angels start a war between their lips. There's ice in their hearts and fire to melt it. The universe falls above their heads, all planets circling around them like they're cheering for them. Stardust gets in their throats but they do not choke. The stars disappear in their eyes and sun stops burning and moon stops shinning to protect them in the darkness, far away from eyes and minds and mouths that could harm them.

Her hands rest on his hips, her fingertips slowly traveling up and down, but never too much. She's too frozen to move. She lives and sees and feels with her lips while the rest of her is frozen.

Evangelic zeal fills her within and she finds herself at peace.

They part their lips only for a second to fill their lungs with air.

She breathes cold air into his lungs, making him shiver from within, and plants herself inside of his body. She's inside, inside of his heart and mind and soul and she's never seen a kingdom more beautiful than the one inside of him. She's so small, unimportant, and he's so big, important, but none of that matters because now she's his equal.

She plants her seeds in his body and they start growing in his heels. Like a tree she starts spreading through his body, her branches surrounding his rib cage, protecting his heart.

She grows and inside of him she builds herself a _home_.

He's a little bit more daring than her.

He moves his hands from her hips which he has been fondling gently. His fingertips brush over her bosom, making both of them gasp, and find themselves on her bare arms. He slowly travels upwards until he reaches her shoulders, then plays with her collar bones. He turns them into dust and she feels weak.

He cups her face and caresses her cheeks with his thumbs.

He knows her now. He knows some of the curves on her body. She's no longer an unknown road he would get lost at, she's a tunnel which has a light at the end of it.

Love is fire which makes you burn and water to make you cold. Love is pleasant heath and prickling ice. Love is war and destruction and loss and tears. Love is utopia and salvation and smiles.

Love has no form or taste or smell. Love is not human because humans are wrong. Love is never wrong.

Love is an orphan, it has no home until you give it. Love is a beggar for attention. Love is a king and a queen and an ordinary person.

Love is when you laugh out of pain, and hurt because of too much laughter. Love is tears which burn your skin like acid and smile that makes the corners of your lips crack.

Love hunts you and you hunt it without knowing its face and it tackles you as soon as you turn your back. Because you're not allowed to look love in the eyes.

Love is patience.

Love is a mystery.

Love is everything.

_Love is life._

He detaches his lips from hers, but not himself in entirety. His body is still pressed next to hers, and their hearts are beating to the same rhythm, like they're singing a song. His lips are lingering above hers, gently scraping against the surface every once in a while.

"You taste like.." he can't find the right words and she gasps, "When I kiss you, I have a feeling I'm swallowing a heartbeat."

She smiles a most delicious smile as his lips press on hers. Faint lightning falls over them as their faces keep touching. They are not in a middle of lustful kiss like they were a moment before, no, it's like they're trying to learn each other bodies by memory.

Every curve, every hidden corner, every line on the skin, but both of them know it will take much more than a stolen kiss in dark to memorize those things.

Murmur and footsteps not so far away disrupt their moment and they jump away from each other, trying to act as natural as possible.

"My, my," Damon's voice echoes in the corridor as him and Katherine come to stand before them, "Look what we have here," he smirks.

Katherine smiles enthusiastically.

"Brother," Stefan says with a voice full of warning, "This is Miss Gilbert."

"We meet at last," Damon nods gracefully in Elena's direction.

She smiles politely while studying Damon. He's beautiful, but nowhere near beautiful as Stefan is. The lines of his face are too hard, strict, while Stefan's are friendly, gentle. His hair is blacker than the coal itself and his eyes so blue that they're almost frightening in its intensity.

"And this is Miss Pierce," he points towards the woman standing next to Damon.

She seems to be Stefan's age while Damon seems to be older than them both. She's beautiful, so remarkably beautiful that Elena thinks this is probably the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. They have the same hair color, Elena notices, but Katherine has big locks which are pinned up so that they're hanging next to her red cheeks. Her skin seems so smooth and so white, like snow, and her eyes are two big, brown marbles.

Katherine steps towards Elena and puts her arms around Elena's shoulders, pulling her into a hug. That surprises Elena but she hugs her back nevertheless.

"I'm so happy I finally got to meet you," Katherine says happily as she lets Elena go from the hug.

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well," Elena answers shyly and Katherine goes back to Damon's side.

"I've been showing Miss Gilbert around the castle," Stefan smiles nervously, "We better continue," he starts walking and Elena follows him.

As they disappear behind the corner Damon smirks, "That girl will destroy him in all the ways he will not be able to fix."

Katherine furrows her brows. "Don't you think our lord knows better than to fall for someone he's not allowed to?"

Damon stays quiet for some time, staring in the direction they went before turning his attention to Katherine, "Dear Miss Pierce, you have so much more to learn about men."

* * *

_**AN: Now, that's what I call a kiss.**_


	7. Chapter 7

Days have passed and neither of them brought up the kiss. Both of them wanted to, both of them were thinking about it constantly, but neither could find the right words.

Elena had often found herself touching her lips. Just gently brushing her fingertips over them, like she's trying to catch a memory. Like it's a grain of dust on her lips just waiting to be caught. Sometimes, while taking a bath, she would feel fire on the parts of her skin he had squeezed, especially her hips. Like he left a trace of his fingertips on her body. Like he left a part of himself on her, making her hungry for more. The more her skin would burn the hungrier she would get.

He often had thoughts of taking her in his room and kissing her until eternity would start dripping from their lips. He was so unbelievably hungry for her. He never felt this sort of an emotion before. It's like that kiss opened a giant hole in his stomach, a hole that is sucking everything in, making him empty, always hungry for more, always needing more, always wanting more.

But it was an unusual situation. Neither of them knew what to do, what to feel and what the other one wants to do or feels. Both of them thought about the moments which led them to this uncomfortable situation in the first place.

She remembered the first time she had laid her eyes on him. She was on the ground, pebbles and rocks pressing onto her knees, making holes in her rags. Her hands were tied behind her back by chain, and there was a chain around her neck as well. She was no one. She still is no one even though from time to time he makes her feel like someone. There wasn't one clean spot on her skin, everything was stained with mud and blood, even her clothes.

She had scars, both inside and out and he had seen them all. He stared at them without looking away. He can take her scars. She never wanted him to mend them, that would be too much to ask, maybe even impossible, but he didn't flinch upon seeing them.

She knew he often looked for them, even when her clothes was covering the spots of her body which were scarred the most.

When he had kissed her he had seen those within. He had to, there was no other choice, she's too badly bruised for him not to notice.

Her hair was wet. Muddied. Dark. Darker than it's supposed to be.

And when she almost fell he steadied her with his own to hands. She looked him in the eyes and there was so much pain in them. It was as dark as the night and her skin and hair, but there were flickers of light as well, like stars.

Those eyes started haunting her, they made her weep at night. They bruised her skin more than anyone ever did before. His eyes burned stronger than torches and bruised deeper than knives.

He created more scars _on - in_ her body.

She loves those scars.

The more he smiled, the more time he spent in her presence, there was less and less pain behind those jade eyes. There were no more flickers of light.

He was light himself.

He shined, and _oh_, he was _so so so so_ beautiful.

And when their lips met, he showed her a whole new world, the one he had built only for them to live in. Their own private paradise. Sanctuary. Haven.

She wanted to stay there. She wanted them to build a home on those lands. She could hear cheerful screams and laughter and delightful moans. Pleasure.

It's like growing up with a blank piece of paper and most colorful colors. You splash the colors on the paper and with time it becomes a painting. It becomes you. One day there are tiny fingerprints on the paper and when you turn around there's a masterpiece in front of you. It's your life. You have grown up. You pack your bags and hang the painting on a wall and lock the door and you leave your little house in the middle of nowhere to go and see the big, white world. You meet new people, taste their food, sleep in their beds, drink their wine and one day you see your painting on someone else's wall. The more you look at it the more you realize it's not yours, it's not identical - but it is similar. In the morning it seems uglier than yours and at night it seems prettier. You see all the things you did wrong and that sometimes your brush went the wrong way. Some colors on the other persons painting match better than on yours. You spend years analyzing it and those years feel like minutes and the scent of wind changes and finally you realize you're looking at a mirror.

That's how it felt with Stefan. Like she's looking at a mirror.

When he met her he expected someone fragile. He thought she will act like a trapped animal. Except she didn't. She was covered in mud but she was so beautiful. So strong, so fierce, so determined. She was like a weapon. Like a bomb ready to explode. It seemed like she could take the whole world down with her if she went off.

She was like a story to him. One of those myths people write about in books, about gods living on the clouds and women who have snakes in their head instead of hair. Her cover was hard, thick, and the words so unknown, like he's reading a book on a language he doesn't understand.

She was a mystery. She was a game. He wanted to play.

Until she became something more. Until he discovered her honey skin and marble eyes and silky hair and subtle lips. Until she smiled at him and made him dizzy. It was so hard to rely on his brain when she smiled - his brain would lose all of the focus and his body would crumble on the ground. He was surprised by the sharpness of her words and the lightness of her laughter.

She was a warrior, but she was also a woman. So gentle and light and beautiful.

He felt a surge of contradicting emotions. He wanted to show her to the world. _He wanted to brag._ And at the same time he wanted to lock her into a room to which only he would have an access to. He didn't want anyone to see her, anyone but him. _Jealousy. _

He knew women like Elena can't be confined. She was wearing a shield at all costs and her weapon was sharper than a dagger. She kept it in her look and smile and the way she walked and talked and existed.

He wanted to kiss her and caress her before ripping her dress off of her body and devouring her. That was primal. He was an animal.

Then he wanted to build a house around her and call it their home. They would get married under the stars and have as many children as there are bricks in a wall.

And when she kissed him he could see all of that.

He could see her lips pressing onto his in every fixed point in time.

She was his future.

One day he took her to a common room and she was surprised by the amount of books they own. The walls were full of shelves which were full of books and she loved how they felt under her fingertips. They were old, probably older than both of them combined, which meant they hold more story than just words between the covers.

She liked old things. Like books and mirrors and furniture and buildings.

He told her that this is nothing, that there's a whole library on the first floor and she was so curious to see it. He took her there and a delighted smile appeared on her lips, instantly making him smile as well.

That's all that took for him to feel happy, to see her lips curl upwards.

He sat on the window bench and watched her as she moved across the room as a ray of sun. Slow. Gracious. Light. First she watched the books, then felt them up, taking each out and then putting it back in place. He watched her, he watched her for hours as she amused herself with rows and rows of books.

Finally she pulls one of them out and it stays in her hand instead of going back on the shelf. She walks over to him, jumping a little every few steps, and gives the book to him, asking him to read to her under the excuse that she likes hearing the sound of his voice.

She blushes as she says those words and his fingers become slippery under the brown, leather cover.

He reads to her for hours until he grows tired. He leaves the book for her if she wants to continue by herself since she doesn't seem to be tired at all. She seems sad to see him go but she knows he must to.

The air is full of unspoken words and unfulfilled dreams.

Next day he notices she hasn't touched the book at all. They continue where he left of the day before.

The next day he notices the same but doesn't say anything. He notices the same thing with the next book, and the next one, and the one after that, but stays quiet.

Days pass. Weeks pass. A month or two pass as well. And they seem like seconds to them. Their life is made out of words none of them thought of. Their days consist of words no one will ever forget written by men no one loved until they died. They spend their days in her room, never his, they stay until sun is replaced by the moon and his voice by silence and he loves the most when she falls asleep while he reads to her because then he gets to carry her to bed. He gets to move the hair from her face and watch as her dress gets ruffled but he doesn't dare to do anything about it.

This feeling is,_ oh_, so innocent. Like a newborns first whimper or a promise child makes.

The other side of a coin is pure lust.

He wants to kiss her again.

He wants to do so much more than that.

It takes him some time to realize she doesn't know how to read. She's ashamed. He offers to teach her which she gladly accepts.

"Where did the scars on your legs come from?" he asks during one of their sessions while she announces a war to long words.

She lifts her look from the book so quickly and gasps silently but the only thing she gives him is silence.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, knowing it must be a sensitive subject, "I didn't mean to look, honestly. The day after you first came here, when I came to you in the dungeon, your clothes were torn.." he swallows something. Maybe words he knows he shouldn't say or thoughts he shouldn't have. "You moved to light and they were visible, all over your thighs, and I couldn't help by notice."

His voice is apologetic.

"I know," she says, "I knew you have seen them, and I knew you will ask, sooner or later," her words surprise him.

"If you don't want to give me an answers that's alright."

"Don't I at least owe you that much, my lord?" her voice is soft, but distant.

It takes him some time to answer. "You don't owe me anything."

Silence overpowers them both.

Their tongues tie into a knot in their mouths and all they can do is stare at one another uncomfortably.

"Men are animals," she finally says with a husky voice.

He doesn't know how to react. He doesn't know what to say to that. He wishes he does.

"I was just twelve years old when I left this town. I left out of fear. Precaution. I left because nothing was left for me here anymore. Nothing was waiting for me out there either, but somehow the whole world seemed less scary than this place at the time."

His heart squeezes in his chest. He wishes he knew her then.

"I was all alone," she continues, "I kept away from others. I had nowhere to go so I just walked. Never in open road, mostly through woods or fields or somewhere where I didn't think I would get noticed. I was so young.." she stops for a moment, the look in her eyes hazy. "And then, I grew up. People say it doesn't happen over night but sometimes I think it did to me. Anger in me rose and it kept building up. Soon I became furious. Vengeful. My mind was full of ideas I didn't even fully understand. Time flew by. I was fourteen by the time I knew I have to settle down to figure everything out," she looks at him and holds his gaze.

She wants to break it off. _She doesn't want to break it off._

"I wanted to work. I knew how to work!" she says a little bit angrily, "I knew how to cook and clean and sew but no one would trust an unknown girl covered in dirt and rags," this is when the first tear falls down her cheek, and soon the others follow, "I was sleeping on the streets and stealing to survive, to eat," he remembers her bony legs, her small waist and he realizes she didn't get much. She started filling out nicely since she came here and all of her curves were visible again. Horror washes over her face. "Only few weeks after I arrived is when they came. Men. Men who don't take no for an answer. I don't know who they were. Were they married or not or just passing by. I don't know how old they were or even how they looked like, it was always so dark. I could have passed them on the street the next day and I wouldn't have known."

His eyes pop out. He chokes on air. He wants to wipe her tears off but his body is made out of stone.

_Shock._

She cries. "I didn't want it, none of it. I told them to leave me alone but they wouldn't. They kept coming and coming night after night after night and they knew I have nowhere else to go. When I screamed no one heard my screams or they pretended they don't," her face is full of tears now, completely bathed in salty water, "I tried to fight them off and that is how scars appeared. I had them all over my body but at most places they were light and healed easily. The ones on my thighs are the worst. Sometimes I think they won't ever heal," she furrows her brows.

He has to say something. He wants to.

_There's nothing to say._

"Do you know what the worst thing is?" she asks absentmindedly.

_All of it?_

He doesn't respond.

"After some time I stopped screaming."

He feels like someone threw a brick in his face.

He stays silent and so does she.

After few minutes she stops crying and tears disappear from her face. Her eyes are tired and red now and the expression on her face is curious. She wonders.

Finally he stands up and fear washes all over here.

Here it is. Remember it carefully because this is where it all goes down the drain. This is the moment he tells her she disgusts him and throws her out. Sends her to go where she came from.

Her face becomes blue from fear.

The thing is, he doesn't do any of those things. Instead he crouches in front of her, steadying his palms on top of her knees, and she feels like every bone in her body is turning into dust.

There's anger on his face. Pure anger. Mixed with compassion and worry and furry.

"Where was this?" he asks, his voice seething with anger.

"Why?" she wonders.

He pulls his hands away and stands up. He starts walking across the room.

"Because I will go there. I will gather all the men in one room and keep them there until they confess."

"And if they don't?" she's too curious not to ask.

He steadies his look on hers. "Then I'll torture it out of them."

She gasps in surprise. "That's not you."

"You would be surprised," he clenches his teeth.

"No," she says.

"No?" he repeats in the form of a question.

She stands up and walks over to him. Her action takes him by surprise. She seems determined. He always liked that about her. "You're not going to do that to yourself because of me."

"But those men - " he raises his voice.

"Those men will pay in some way," she interrupts him, "I got out of there. I escaped," she takes his hands into hers.

He can feel her shaking.

She trembles like a leaf.

He steadies her.

"Will your scars ever heal?" he pulls his fingers in between hers and isn't surprised to find out that they fit in there perfectly.

"I'm not sure. It's been a long time and my skin - "

"I'm not talking about scars on your skin," he cuts her off in the middle of her sentence, "I was referring to the scars on your heart. Is there a chance they will ever heal?" he asks worriedly, not taking his look away from hers.

She hums, squeezing his hands in hers. "In the last few months chances became higher," she smiles.

Which makes him smile.

He doesn't remember smiling has ever been this easy.

"I think there's one more thing you should hear," she lets go of his hands and disappointment strikes him. She sits down and motions for him to do the same so he does.

"Few days before I left the town, me and my family were out in the city. My mother, my father, my little brother Jeremy, who was nine at the time, and me. All of a sudden one of the guards stops in front of us and blocks our way. My father asks him politely to let us through, but he said he has a proposition for my mother. From the king," she says bitterly, "At first I was confused, what could he possibly want from my mother? Then I figured it out," she levels her look with Stefan's.

"He wanted her in his bed," realization hits him.

"If you're asking yourself what would the king want with some commoner you must understand that my mother was a beautiful woman. Years left no trace on her face, and hard work was barely visible on her skin. She was extraordinary."

"I have no doubts she was," he smiles and she returns him a smile.

It's then when he realizes she's talking about her mother in past tense.

"My mother refused his offer and we went home. Our house was on the edge of the city, near the forest, and every morning I went into the woods," sadness washes over her, "When I came back, our house was on fire. Our house was burning and there were guards in front of it, watching it burn. Which is when I saw him, on his horse, crown on the top of his head. There was a sly smirk on his face. I heard them scream, they did as well. And when the screams stopped they turned around and left."

Something snaps inside of Stefan.

It's not that he doesn't believe Elena, she has no reason to lie. He knew his father was a lot of things, but he never took him for a murderer.

He knew very well his father hated not getting what he wants, though.

"I was in the woods until the flames went down. There was nothing left there but ruins."

She doesn't let herself cry this time, though. Her face is hard and serious as she tells him this story.

"My mother refused to be the kings whore and it got my whole family killed. It was a coincidence I wasn't in the house."

Stefan buries his face in his palms and with his fingertips rubs his forehead. He remembers her saying she would rather die than be his whore.

"So you wanted to avenge them."

"I knew he loves them young. Fresh. I look very much like my mother so I knew he will take interest in me. I would let him take me to his bed and then I would put a sword in his chest," she says coldly.

"I'm _so so so so_ sorry," he emphasizes his regrets even though one sorry doesn't cover it.

"Me too," she nods, her eyes filling with tears now.

"Why tell me now, though?" his curiosity gets the best of him.

She smirks lightly. "Because of how you reacted to my story. You treated me like I'm a human," she responds and her words sting, "For the first time since I came here I felt like I'm more than your toy. Like you actually care if I live or die."

"Does that surprise you? That I care."

She ponders on it. "Maybe. It is unexpected."

He stays silent.

He cares more than he should.

And she cares more than she lets on.

* * *

Stefan leaves her room and storms into his. He pushes the door open and they fall closed from the force of his push.

"Is there something wrong, brother?" he turns around and notices Damon sitting on his couch with a glass of wine in his hand. He wears an amused look on his face.

"Our father is a disgrace," he grits his teeth together.

Damon lifts his glass in the air. "Here, here," he cheers, "We have that covered already, though," he takes a sip from the glass.

"He killed her entire family," he continues like Damon isn't even there, "Because her mother refused to be his whore!" he exclaims loudly.

"Whose?" Damon asks half curious, half confused, the news clearly not effecting him as much as they did Stefan.

"Elena's," he says her name louder than he should.

Damon gazes questioningly in his direction, still confused.

When Stefan realizes he had used her first name he silently corrects himself, "Miss Gilbert."

A smirk appears on Damon's face as he puts the glass on the table. He stands up and walks over to Stefan. "Brother," he puts his palm on Stefan's shoulder, "No matter how good in bed she is you should never used her first name in public."

Stefan just glares at him, disregarding his words. "Are you drunk?"

"I've been drinking, yes," Damon pulls his hand away and nods, "And now I feel like doing something stupid. You do the math."

_Well, he clearly is drunk._

Some people get drunk because they're happy or sad or in company. Damon doesn't need any reason.

"How about you brother?" Damon steps away a little, "Did you do anything stupid recently?"

Stefan stays quiet, still fuming from the inside.

"Should I take your silence as a confirmation?" he asks another question but this one stands unanswered as well, "Why her?"

This takes Stefan's interest.

"Why her what?" he knits his brows together.

"I mean, don't take me wrong, she's beautiful," Damon complimenting Elena's appearance rubs on Stefan in a wrong way, "I know a beautiful woman when I see one," he wiggles his brows, "But I'm sure there are women far more experienced than her."

"Damon," Stefan rubs his forehead, clearly irritated with Damon's behavior, "We're not sleeping together."

Damon barks. "It's past ten in the evening. You just came from her room. What else were you doing?" he seems not to believe his brother.

"Talking," Stefan shrugs. It's the truth. Half truth. He didn't want to tell Damon he's teaching Elena how to read, not when she seemed so ashamed that she doesn't know how to already.

Damon waves his hand. "Wait, you're keeping her here and you're not even fucking her?" he asks astonished.

Stefan drops his hand from his forehead and looks at his brother in disgust. "Do you have to talk like that?"

Damon smirks. "You want to, though, don't you?" he comes closer to his brother. Just few tiny steps.

"What?" Stefan asks confused.

"I've seen the way you look at her," Damon is clearly amused by this and Stefan is growing more irritated with every passing second, "You want to fuck her."

Stefan snaps. He pins Damon against a wall.

"Yes!" he snarls at Damon's fearful face, "I want to fuck her. Is that what you wanted to hear?" a smirk finds its way back to Damon's face, "I want to tear her clothes off of her and throw her on the bed and trace every inch of her body with my lips until I memorize it."

Damon stays quiet for a while, smiling. "But that's not all you want to do, is it?"

Stefan lets him go and whispers, "No."

"You want her to sleep in your bed and you want to wake up next to her. You want her to be your queen and have your children. You want to know every one of her secrets and fulfill every one of her wishes. You want to love her, don't you?"

"Yes," Stefan says silently.

Damon puts his hand on Stefan's shoulder. "You can love her, brother," he doesn't say this mockingly but encouragingly, "It's just that no one can know."

* * *

_**AN: Where can I sign up to get my Stefan?**_


	8. Chapter 8

As time went on, the guilt in his chest only grew. Sometimes he felt like all that guilt is stealing his oxygen because he often had a feeling his lungs are going to collapse. Sometimes it would grow so big he could feel it in every inch of his body, probing his organs and enveloping around his bones.

He watched her, he watched pain and sadness and loss, even a little bit of anger, pour through every pore of her being.

His family did this to her.

He couldn't believe his father would fall so low. He wondered is Elena's family the only family he damaged because a woman refused to be his whore.

He knew there's nothing he could have done, he knew there's nothing he can do now, but he still feels guilty.

He feels ashamed. Sorry.

Sometimes when he looks into her eyes he would see that scared twelve year old girl. He wants to help her so desperately but she runs away. She runs away every time their eyes lock.

He feels unworthy of her. Sometimes he wish she hated him.

Sometimes he thinks she does.

And then there are times when she would look at him like she's seeing him for the first time and she's absolutely stunned, in a good way, by sight in front of her eyes.

In those moments he felt like he has wings. Like he can fly far away and take her with him.

He was successful in teaching her how to read. After only few weeks she was able to read books by herself, even though she still needed some help with big and complicated words.

Today, he gave her a challenging book, one he knew she won't be able to read fully in a long time. He loved seeing frowns on her forehead. They were like waves on her smooth skin.

It took her five minutes for each sentence, which were long and consisted of complex words.

"This is impossible!" she throws her hands in the air out of irritation. The book falls from her lap on the table by which they're sitting.

Stefan laughs lightly. "Nothing is impossible," he points back at the book.

"This is," she whines, "Can we take a break?" she asks pleadingly, looking at him right in the eyes. She does seem tired, he concludes.

"Alright," he nods his head and reaches for the book. He closes it, stands up and takes it to the small shelf in her room. A shelf he had made especially for her.

"How come you're not married yet?" she asks out of blue, "My lord," she adds at the last moment even though he told her it's not necessary.

She can see his shoulders stiffen when her question registers with him. "Because I still haven't found someone whom I want to marry," he puts the book in its place and before he turns around he adds, "Even though the Court is pushing it."

She wiggles her nose in the moment he turns around and he smiles at the sight of it. "I thought kings and queens marry out of need."

He nods. "They do, usually. Which is why they're pushing me to marry someone soon," he eyes her carefully, waiting for her reaction but he doesn't get one so he continues, "Kings usually marry someone because they have to, or because it's a good deal. Most of the times marriage is business around here. My mother had no brothers and a woman can't rule the kingdom, so she was forced to marry my father because there wasn't any other option. He seemed a good choice at the time," this makes he chuckles, "Time proved differently," he stares blankly at her, "Anyway, marriage is usually just a deal where two people of royal blood produce children of royal blood, which is why kings are allowed to enjoy other women."

"But if women do," she spits out in disgust, "They're looked down upon because of that," she shakes her head like this is a brand new information for her.

He nods to confirm it. "I don't want that," he declares.

At first she frowns because she doesn't believe him. What man wouldn't want that? One woman he has to sleep with out of obligation, and many out of pleasure. All men want that, but only the ones in his position can get it. And then she remembers that in the last few months all of his free time went to her. She had never seen him in a company of another woman except Miss Forbes but she made it pretty clear she has no romantic interest in Stefan. She respected their friendship.

Elena frowns at that. Why is he spending time with her when he can be out there falling in love with his future queen? She's not available. Well, she is, but she's not allowed.

Her frown deepens. Maybe that's why he's hoovering around her all the time, because she's forbidden. But he most know better. She's thinking too low of him at the moment and she's aware of it. She knows he's reasonable and one of the best men she ever met in her life. One of the most honorable ones for sure.

Her imagination tickles her and floods her with joy. There are so many beautiful women at the Court, so many proper and available ones, women that could make him reasonably happy and give him children to rule this kingdom after he's gone. Instead he's spending his days with her, locked inside of her room, teaching her how to read. Why? Is that really so much more pleasurable than being surrounded by women who would give everything to sleep in his bed? Unless..

She doesn't even want to go there. She tries to push those thoughts away because they're unreasonable, no allowed, preposterous and simply stupid. She's way out of line.

She buries them somewhere in the back of her head but a weird feeling possesses her body.

_Possibility._

She remembers those green eyes of his. The warmth that lives inside of them. The way he looks at her, like he wants to hurt her with pleasure and coax her in gentleness afterwards. She remembers his soft skin and how she forgot to touch it when she had a chance.

She remembers when his lips, so soft and gentle and delicious, brushed against hers and when her own initiated a first kiss she ever had.

She flushes. Her first kiss. There were so many men, so many men she never wanted and they never kissed her. They never wanted to. They never even wanted to see her face, not that they could have in the dark.

She remembers those moments and her whole body trembles in disgust and she hopes he hasn't noticed it. She wonders.. if they ever found themselves in such a situation, would she be able to trust him enough to sleep with him. She doesn't think it's possible.

So many hands on her body. So many.. she closes her eyes to keep the images away but she can see them behind her closed eyelids. They're haunting her.

She grew accustomed to sleeping with men. No, no. She never slept with a man. They took her without asking, they did something to her.. there's a word for it but she doesn't want to remember it. She hates that word.

_Fuck._

She chuckles at the irony of it in the privacy of her own mind. So many men, only one kiss.

Maybe kiss means something different, even though sleeping with someone should portray the ultimate act of trust and loyalty and love between two human beings.

She came to realize you sleep with anyone you find attractive, with anyone you want, with anyone who might provide you with pleasure. That's why kings go for whores. Because men have a large appetite. That's why those men always came to her, making a whore out of her based on their own will.

You kiss those you love. Men kiss their wives and kings kiss their queens but they never kiss their whores.

You kiss someone because a kiss means coming back.

She also came to realize so many men had her, men she didn't want. But the one man she might want she can't have.

It makes her heart ache.

"Oh," she finally says when she realizes she's been silent for far too long, "But Miss Pierce is so beautiful," she says this with admiration, "And she seems so pleasant. How come you're not interested in her?" she asks curiously. If he doesn't find her beautiful he must be mad or blind or both.

He chuckles. "Yes, Miss Pierce is extremely beautiful," and yet, him acknowledging her beauty stings her in all the ways she can't explain, "She's also my cousin," he looks at her warmly.

"Oh," is all she manages to say. _Stupid stupid stupid little girl._

"I don't want just a wife, I want a queen."

She looks at him with curiosity.

"All these women want to be my wives. They want to be royalty, to indulge in the life I'm able to provide them with. None are interested in being queens. I want my wife to be my partner," he says with passion.

She doesn't know what to say to that.

Silence envelops them.

"How do you like living here?" he asks in order to break the silence. He keeps pacing the room. It's full of her scent.

"Fine," she says warmly because this is the best she has ever lived, even though she still doesn't feel comfortable with living here, so she does most things when he instructs her. Every day he asks politely is she ready for her bath, probably aware of her uneasiness to ask for anything. She doesn't want to be a burden, but when he offers, she accepts. It seems rude do decline. "Not that I have a choice," her attitude suddenly changes and she doesn't know why. She hates herself for it.

He stops pacing and turns around to lock his eyes with hers. She's already eyeing him expectantly. "I'm not keeping you a prisoner here," he says coldly, and it surprises her until she realizes her words have probably hurt him, "You're free to go whenever you want."

Her look falls from his. Even though he didn't make her feel unwanted, he made her feel guilty for snapping at him.

"I have nowhere else to go," she says silently.

He keeps quiet for few moments before finally saying, "I know. That's why I'm not making you."

She stands up abruptly, flying on the wings of an unknown feeling. "But why?" she asks loudly, stunning him. The expression on her face is unreadable. "How does me staying here benefit you? You're not lonely, you're well loved, you have friends," she tries to understand it herself by asking all of these questions out loud, "I have nothing to give you, I provide you with nothing at all," now her voice switches to desperate and her fingers cling onto the edge of the table. "So why am I here?"

Her whole body trembles. She can feel goosebumps under her thin, silky dress. He stares at her in awe, trying to find an answer but the only available one might scare her.

There's only one true answer and he doesn't think either of them are ready for it.

"Why did you kiss me?" she cries out loud. One tear falls down her rosy cheek.

"Did you not like it?" he asks when he manages to compose himself.

She feels like she shouldn't lie about this. "I liked it very much," she says shyly, "Probably more than I should have."

"Why?" he surprises her with the tone of his voice, "Why do you think you shouldn't have liked it?"

She moves away from the table to the center of the room because she feels she's too close to him. "Are you seriously asking me this, my lord?" she emphasizes the words _my lord._

"Is that what scares you?" he makes few steps forward and she stumbles back, making him stop. "Does my life, my position, scare you?"

"No," she shakes her head, "They make all of this impossible."

"We can find a way.." he says even though he doesn't believe in those words.

He just wants her, there's nothing rational about it. Nothing rational about his words and feelings.

"You know the only way around it is me being your whore," she says somberly, "And that's something I'll never agree to being."

He nods. "I don't want you to be my whore either."

"Then what do you want?" she asks angrily.

He glares at her. That's a good question. He wants her to be his best friend, his lover, his wife, his queen, the mother of his children. His everything.

And that's too much to ask for.

And his silence gives her an answer.

And she wants the same.

They want the things neither of them are allowed to say out loud.

"We can't be in this situation," she adds, "Your father killed my entire family."

This time anger flashes in his eyes and she notices it so she takes a few steps back.

"I know," he nods, anger still flashing in him, "And I'm so sorry because of that, it was a horrible thing to do and there's nothing I can do to make it better. There's only a small range of his mistakes I can fix."

She can see anger rising inside of him. Now she sees how much her story had struck him even though he just seemed very sorry when she told him about it. Now he seems driven by a number of negative emotions.

"But that can't be your excuse," his words shake her up, "I am nothing like my father."

Small amounts of anger surge through her body as well. "Your father killed my mother and - "

"Do you think yours is the only mother he killed?" the more he steps forward the more she steps backwards until she reaches a wall and leans against it, "If he was able to do this to your family, don't you think there are more families he destroyed because a woman said no to him?" he stops in front of her, pinning her against a wall.

The heat his body radiates engulfs her and she gets lost in it. It's so intoxicating that it attacks all of her senses and lures her into a place she knows she shouldn't visit under any circumstances.

_Him._ She gets lost in him.

"He killed my mother as well," he finally says and his words slightly nudge her out of the trans she found herself in. She looks at him curiously. "My mother was an amazing woman. If it weren't for her this kingdom would be long gone. Every good decision my father made was because she was able to persuade him, and every bad one is the disaster she wasn't able to prevent. She was beautiful and gracious and loyal and love was shining through every fiber of her being," a lock of hair falls across her face and he moves it behind her ear, caressing her cheek with his thumb. She lowers her look down at the place where his skin is touching hers, creating electricity. "He had an amazing woman by his side and still he went looking for others," he says with disgust, "She was with him that day, and she died because he managed to anger someone so much that they wanted to kill him."

She takes all of his words in and, if it's possible, starts caring for him even more than she did a moment ago. She can feel her feelings for him growing bigger inside of her chest and she wonders how big can they grow until they suffocate her.

Slowly, she raises her look from where his finger is touching her cheek to her eyes, and notices his eyes are level with hers.

He stares at her with so much passion and admiration and things she can't even name or is afraid to think about and she can see her reflection inside of his eyes. His hand falls from her face to the wall, and now he's pressing both of his hands onto the wall, trapping her body with his.

_He's so close too close so unbelievably close he shouldn't be so close_ or she will die.

There's so many things between their eyes. Whole universe, all of the planets and stars and so much fire that it could burn the whole world down until there's nothing left but them, standing in her room surrounded by nothingness, her body pressing onto a wall and his body pressing onto hers.

His lips fall on hers abruptly. He startles her. She can't move. Her body turns into stone and waits for him to crumble her into pieces. She's a statue of her former self.

His lips are invasive.

Until she opens her own and kisses him back. Her hands stay where they are until she realizes she will regret if she doesn't touch his face. So they fly up and cup his face and her fingertips fall into the smoothness of his skin. He smiles against her lips and she swallows that smile and it fills her up with joy.

His hands move to her hips and her body stands grinding against his. It takes her some time to realize she's doing it all on her own.

His lips move from her lips to her neck. He leaves million of pecks on her neck, around her collar bone, dangerously close to her bosom. She feels drunk _so drunk_ on his kisses and touch and she wants him to stop but doesn't want him to stop and everything is fuzzy.

Her skin burns under his lips.

_She's his she's his_ she's never been anyone else's before and she never will be.

And he is hers and there's nothing in between.

His hands roam all over her body and she realizes she's been wrong, if it comes to it she will be able to be with him, she will be able to sleep with him, there's nothing wrong this time. She doesn't feel used or cheap or like a whore, she feels wanted and loved and she wants this.

But she doesn't.

Her head falls against a wall and her eyes flutter into the back of her head.

One of his hands picks up her dress and lifts it up, just a little, and she can feel his hand on her leg, just a little above her knee.

She's seeing stars.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she murmurs the words reason told her to say despite her hearts wishes.

"I want you," his hand is on her thigh now and he's touching her scars and she feels like they're disappearing under his touch.

"No," she says in haze, she barely manages but he hears her and stops.

"No?" he murmurs into her skin.

"Not like this," she says.

He starts retreating his hand when she stops him. She grabs his wrist over the silk of her dress and when he looks at her she's grinning at him, "Don't stop."

She says completely high on pleasure. She's on one of the clouds and she doesn't want to come down.

"But you said - " he shakes his head confused.

"I said we're not going to sleep together," she releases his hand.

He smirks at her and before she knows it his lips are back on her neck and his hand is traveling up her thigh and she can feel his finger on her undergarments and slowly they're coming through the thin fabric and she gasps.

He covers her mouth with his while she moans and he swallows every one of those moans.

When they lose air his lips fall onto her skin. He traces every line of her skin with his lips.

She throws her arms around his neck and moans, "My lord," very quietly.

Somehow her hair found its way to her face and it's glued to her skin, falling over her half opened mouth while she's breathing heavily.

His other hand travels around her and falls on her back so he pulls her closer to him.

With every thrust she moans my lord.

She feels like a bottle of champagne which will pop any second now.

Her skin is sweating and so is the back of his neck where here hands are resting. His lips come to hers every once in a while to stifle her moans, but they leave quickly to explore other places.

Finally, when she feels like she's going to explode, she moans his name into his ear. "Stefan," she says loudly, her voice ripping apart.

He thrusts into her harder and she wonders if he wants to punish her for using his first name how come she feels so much pleasure?

Her whole body stiffens before she relaxes and she feels like there's an ocean inside of her because the waves are colliding with her body from the inside. There's a commotion inside of her body and she's a mess. She's trying to catch her breath and figure out this unknown feeling.

She never felt like this before. She's falling apart but she's content. She feels like every one of her organs will shut down but all she can do is smile. She feels like her lungs will collapse any second now but there's so much air around her and she's fighting for it.

He moves his hand away from her undergarments and from under her dress. His lips stop pressing onto her skin. His body is no longer pressing onto hers.

He looks at her and she looks at him and his eyes are big and green and full of fear and excitement and he doesn't know what just happened. She looks at him like she never looked at him before and it startles him and he hopes he hasn't hurt her.

She wants to smile but she can't will her lips to go up. She wants to say something but there are no words.

He moves away from her. Far away. He goes to the door. He disappears behind it.

She's still pressing onto a wall, trying to catch her breath.

He kissed her and touched her and provided her with pleasure and then he left her.

He left her broken, with million little cracks on her skin, with scars that didn't heal and the new ones that only started forming. He left her with million little thoughts and questions and whispers.

He left her in the dark. But she never felt more alive.

Electricity is surging through her body and she's content and sad at the same time and as she watched him leave she realized that she loves him,

_she loves him_

_she loves him_

_she loves him._


	9. Chapter 9

_Happiness. Satisfaction. Shame. Anger. _

Those feelings kept mixing inside of Stefan's body for several upcoming days. He tried to replay the movie inside of his head, but everything was a blur. He remembers being angry and flustered. He remembers the heat radiating from her body and surrounding his. He remembers her sweet scent and hot breath and smoothness of her skin. He tried to remember every curve and corner of her body, he tried to memorize the path from him to her until the cord connecting them broke into pieces.

He remembers feeling wrong and right at the same time, just as well as feeling lost and found. So many contradicting emotions, so little time to process them all.

It was like he was in some sort of a trans and when he shook the spell off he was so confused that he just ran.

He didn't fall asleep that night. He couldn't. Because she was on his mind. She was all over him. Under his skin, on his skin, in the corners of his mind he hadn't explored yet. She was in the wind and air and she occupied all of his senses, starting with smell and ending with touch. She was on his fingertips. Like he ripped a small part of her skin which stay glued on the tips of his fingers.

_Love._ He swallows the word. Is that what this is?

He never thought love could be so raw, so hungry, like an animal instinct.

There are many layers of love. Love is like water, it's transparent, and under it you can see all those pebbles and rocks and mud and yes, even new life. Love is more than a sugar rush or honey on ones lips. It's more than innocent kisses in a half lit hallway and stolen glances. It's more than words on paper, no matter how amazing those words are.

Love is something bigger than universe itself. It has nothing to do with knowledge or brilliance or wealthiness. Love is all of those things by itself and it doesn't choose its host by some number engraved on their brain.

Love chooses someone because it can see into their hearts.

It's tough and complicated and shattering, but it's worth it. People have died for love and so many lived for it. Some tried to trap it to use it for all of the worlds secrets and some treated it with respect.

Love is like a child, so innocent and gullible, it trust anyone with a heart without realizing she's probably the safest among the dead.

But love is anything but safe.

"You're not listening to me, are you?" Caroline's accusatory tone of voice shakes him out of his thoughts.

"Miss Forbes," he says smoothly, "Did you ever do anything extremely stupid?" he asks, his eyes still in a dreamy state.

"I befriended you, my lord," she says seriously.

Her comment makes him chuckle. "I believe this stupidity goes beyond friendship," his fingertips fly to his forehead to fix all of the creases that appeared on it.

His statement catches Caroline's attention. She put her tea cup back on the table and cocks her eyebrow in his direction. "Does this have to do anything with a certain brunette staying here?" she perks up.

I smile washes over his features. "Who else?" he says as if it's a given.

A wide grin appears on Caroline's face. "On a scale from your brother to your father, how idiotic was it?" she spits out.

This makes him chuckle. "Oh, I would say somewhere in between," he says through fits of laughter.

"So why did you do it then?" she wiggles her nose confused. It's not like Stefan to do idiotic things. Most of the times he thinks them through carefully, sometimes making his actions predictable since he always does the right thing, or at least tries to.

He frowns. "I have no idea. I wasn't thinking straight, I wasn't acting like myself, it was like someone else was controlling my body," he lets out an exasperated sigh.

She knows asking what he actually did would be too much. It's clearly private or otherwise he would have told her already. She knows when to not push her luck with his private matters.

"And her?" Caroline continues sipping her chamomile tea.

"I would never do anything without her consent," he furrows his brows.

"I know," Caroline waves him off with a smile, "But how does she feel now, afterwards?" she wants to help, but she also wants to satisfy her curiosity.

"I do not know," he answers wearily.

She almost spits her tea out. "You haven't talked to her?" she asks baffled. Untypical Stefan behavior. More typical for his brother.

"No," he emphasizes his answer by shaking his head.

Caroline hums for few moments, making him stiffen in his seat before she openly asks, "Why her?"

"Why not her?" he asks.

"Oh, do not get me wrong," Caroline says in her defense, "I think she's an amazing woman, I really do. But there are far more accessible and available women and I have never seen you interested in any of them," she ponders on it while actually saying out loud, "Is that why? Is that your rebellion?" she asks, thinking of it as logical.

"No," Stefan says instantly, pretty sure in his answer, "I don't think that has anything to do with it."

She allows him to think about it some more before asking again, "Then why?"

"Because of who she is," he finally answers, "Why are any of the women I met any more special than she is? Because they have a title? Because there's a crown waiting for them when their elders die?" he makes a disgusted face, "Most of those women only want that. The title, the crown, to be somebody without actually trying to be somebody," his eyes light up, "And Elena is completely different."

He lets those words sink in before continuing.

"She's simply brilliant. She is strong, so strong, and smart, incredibly smart. Sometimes I believe she has answers to all of the questions that are bothering me. And while she acts tough most of the time, she's actually pretty scared, but never afraid to speak her mind. You see, she doesn't need a crown or a title to be somebody. No one does, but out of some reason everyone act like they do, like that's what defines importance of a person. It puts a price on you. She could have asked for anything, but she asked for nothing. And for that, I - "

He comes to a halt as he says those words.

"Love her?" she says it for him, even though she's just guessing.

"Just a little," he says, almost afraid of admitting it out loud.

She cracks a smile. "Do you think that's so wise?"

"Oh, absolutely not," his expression grows serious, "This is probably the unwisest things I could have done. And yet, it feels like best thing I ever did," he admits. "Falling in love with her is the greatest adventure I have been on so far, and it barely begun."

"Do you think she feels the same?" she chokes on those words. The last thing she wants is to see him heartbroken.

"One more thing I don't know," he confesses.

She scoffs. "So you don't love her because she's a forbidden territory, you love her because she's different," she states.

"I love her out of so many reasons there are no words good enough to explain."

That warms her heart. That makes her wish someone feels that way about her.

"Love seems complicated," she observes, not sure how to feel about it.

He laughs. "That it is," he admits, "Sometimes marrying you seems ideal."

She smiles as she brings her cup closer to her lips. "My lord, you wouldn't last a day married to me."

* * *

Her skin is cracking. There are million degrees outside and her skin is cracking under then sun like ground would under the pressure of weight it can't hold.

She's a cell. She's a vein without blood. She's a doll. She's a marionette. She's empty. She's full to the top. She has a voice. No one is listening. Her actions matter. No one is looking. She has feelings. No one cares. She's cold when fire starts burning only because it's unknown.

She's a person. She cries when no one is looking and she smiles when he wants her company. She wishes it was the opposite. She wonders would he still want her if he knew she cries.

She is strong but she wishes she could fly away. Someone cut her wings off. Or maybe they were never there.

She's a leaf and this storm has been awfully unkind to her. She misses the drizzle.

She learned a lot last week. She learned that not all touches leave scars. And that some hands can squeeze her flesh in a pleasurable way. She also learned that some lips are made out of fire and that not every fire burns. She learned the difference between pleasure and simple physical acts. She also learned that some people can be giving more than greedy.

And in the end she learned some people wear their hearts on the palm of their hands.

Because he was so careful with pressing his hands onto her body, and every time he did her own heart rate would become faster. At times she thought it's going to pierce through her chest.

"No," Stefan shakes his head lightly, "It is not comprihenseble, it's comprehensible," he corrects her.

She tries to repeat the word after him but fails.

He moves closer to her and her whole body trembles. He's close so close too close he shouldn't be this close but she wants him this close maybe even closer.

"_Com-pre-hen-si-ble,_" he repeats, pointing at the word in the book.

He takes her breath away. Literally. Her lungs fight for air, but she only provides them with small doses. She's like an addict trying to stay alive after her vices being taken away from her.

Her insides are freezing, but her skin is burning.

"My lord, please," she says shyly, "I'm afraid you're sitting far too close."

He freezes in the spot before responding calmly, "I think I can manage."

"I believe you," she answers instantly, her voice jumping, "You see, though, I don't believe I can."

He slowly raises his look to her only to catch her eyes already in level with his.

"Your eyes," he gasps silently, like he made a relevant discovery.

"My eyes?" she asks confused, dizzy from him still being so close to her.

He eyes them carefully, those big two marbles, sometimes dark like chocolate, sometimes light like chestnut to match her hair. Under this light they're so brown, so gentle, with little specks of green in them.

And there's a whole new world hiding behind those eyes. Things you only find in fairytales.

He clears his throat with a cough. "Miss Gilbert," he knits his brows, "I wanted to apologize."

"Whatever for?" she asks teasingly because she knows exactly what for.

He doesn't let her get him sidetracked, though, "For the other day. It was - "

"Inappropriate?" she interrupts him and finishes his sentence for him.

He nods. "Among other things."

A small smile appears on her face, making the corners of her lips move upwards. "Most enjoyable things are."

Her words catch him off guard. "How do you do that? After everything you went through, how did you manage to stay so full of life?" he asks in wonder.

She sighs. "Horrible things happen. They will always happen. But somewhere in the middle life is beautiful and it makes you want to continue. Sometimes you find the reasons within you, sometimes you find them in others."

His hand moves slightly over hers and to both of their surprise she doesn't pull back. There's something reassuring about his hold on her. "How did you get so wise?" he smiles at her.

"I'm nobody," she takes her look off of him.

He takes her other hand in his as well and squeezes both of them with his fingers. "You're somebody to me. And you're so beautiful," he caresses her face with his eyes.

She blushes. "I am not," she disagrees with him.

"That's the thing, you don't even know how beautiful you are. Not just to me. To everyone around you."

She lifts her gaze to him and he notices her cheeks are completely red by now. "You're so strong as well."

"So are you!" she finally finds something to say in return.

"Not as much as you," he knits his brows together.

"I'm strong for myself, you're strong for million other people out there," she encourages him, "And you're doing an amazing job."

He smiles at her words and her whole world lights up.

"And there's nothing to apologize for," she adds, "You didn't do anything I didn't want you to do," more blush attacks her cheeks.

"Oh?" his smile becomes a little wider than he intended it to be.

"I know," she lowers her look again, but he puts his finger under her chin and makes her look him in the eyes, "I know feeling like this is wrong, impossible even, but I can't help it," she bites her lower lip.

"There's nothing wrong about it," he encourages her by telling the truth.

"Do you feel it as well?" she asks curiously.

"Feel what?"

"When you touch me I feel warm and cold at the same time. I feel like I'm falling apart and you're the only thing holding me together. My whole body tingles, like an itch I desperately want to scratch. Do you feel that way too? When you stop touching me, do you feel like someone ripped your lungs through your throat?" she asks, already knowing she will be disappointed if he says no.

"It's a little bit different for me," he says calmly, "When I touch you, I feel like you're the only thing keeping me alive, and when I stop, I feel like I want to die."

She was always afraid she won't recognize love once it comes because she doesn't know how it looks like. No one ever told her once it comes, you just know, because it wears a face of someone you have been dreaming of since you were born.

* * *

_**AN: Hmmmm, what will happen now when they made this discovery..**_


	10. Chapter 10

"We are getting very impatient," one of the council members says through his teeth.

"Immensely," the other one confirms his words while stroking his small, gray beard.

Stefan watches them carefully as fury fills their features. He know they can't make him do anything he doesn't want to do, especially when his personal life is in question. Their power combined can't even reach the power he possesses by himself. They can make him change his mind by boring him to death, though, but with his strong will and character, that's not likely to happen.

Court removing the king from his duty because of his unwillingness to marry hasn't been recorded so far, but there's a first time for everything. He still has time, though, he's only 18 years old.

"I'm not entering a loveless marriage," he answers calmly, his fists joined together on the table in front of him.

"You're not even looking," one of the members say but he can't be bothered to see from whom the voice came from. After some time they all mashed together into one big, annoying hammer always thumping on the top of his head.

Once again, he starts begging for silence, but also knows all of his efforts are for nothing. There's not a thing in the world that has the power to shush these men, except maybe cutting their tongues out, but he doesn't have grounds for doing so. And he would hate to abuse his position.

"Or maybe he's looking at the wrong places," Alaric voices himself, his voice amused.

His statement catches Stefan's attention, and his expression grows serious. "Meaning?" he asks carefully.

"You have been spending a lot of time with that common girl," his eyes adapt an insidious smirk.

"Councilman!" one of the members from the other side of the table raises his voice, "Sure you're not suggesting - "

Stefan raises his hand in the air to shut him up.

A smile plays over his features. "Is common courtesy a crime?" he asks calmly, hiding his true feelings very well, even though he can feel his heart beating faster than it's normal. "Can't I associate myself with a female person without any romantic intentions?" he pushes his point further.

A proud smirk disappears from Alaric's eyes and he clears his throat with a cough. "Of course, my lord, of course you can," he says a little bit flustered, not expecting Stefan to react so calmly to his accusations. He was sure he was onto something.

"I assure you, the relationship between Miss Gilbert and me is completely friendly," his heart aches upon saying those words, because to some extent they're true, to his misfortune, "I simply believe she's someone worth helping."

Silence fills the room and he enjoys it because he knows it will end sooner than he would like.

"There are so many women on the court," the councilman next to him says, "There are so many women on other courts. All of them would kill to be your wives. Why don't you at least consider them?" the man says with a gentle voice.

Stefan's expression stays unreadable. "I can consider them," this seems to make the members happy, until Stefan speaks again, "I can't promise you I will like them."

All of them gasp in unity.

Finally, Stefan stands up, "I plan to marry some day. Maybe in few months, maybe next year, I can't pinpoint that moment of my life," this is the first time his voice weavers, "But I will do it on my terms, I will marry who I want to marry, when the time comes," he raises his voice, "Is that clear?"

Some time passes before one of them responds in all of their names, apparently, "Of course, my lord."

"Now," he steps around his chair and pulls it under the table, "I'm sure you have better things to discuss than marriage that may not come in years. So I'll leave you to it."

* * *

"Is there something wrong, my lord?" Elena asks startled when he angrily stumbles into her room after just one knock to which she barely had time to answer to.

His expression becomes less serious and his features warm up when he lays his eyes on her. "Nothing for you to worry about," he replies, not wanting to burden her with irrelevant things.

Her face drops out of disappointment and he learns that keeping things from her, no matter how irrelevant they seem to him, is not a wise choice.

"I was just in a meeting with the council," he sits next to her and for the first time she doesn't scoot over because she can't handle being close to him. He invades her senses and she lets him without fighting it. "They're pushing me to marry," he says silently.

"Oh," she says in surprise. She realizes how unwise her feelings are, especially if she lets them grow. They can never get married. She could never be his wife, or his queen, and she fears he would rather stay with her either way than fulfill his duty, which might get him in trouble. "Don't you want to get married?" she asks curiously.

"Some day. Not now," he furrows his brows, seeming deep into thought, "They want me to enter a loveless marriage only so they can rest in peace and be assured I will provide them with a heir."

She frowns. "That seems incredibly cold," she murmurs, thinking about every life is hard in its own way. Maybe some people don't have the luxury of living on a court, but they will always have their own choice, which is worth more than easy life. "Plus, no one can ever be sure you will give them a heir. That depends on things which are out of our control."

"I know," he responds, still deep inside of his head, barely aware of his surroundings, "All these women they keep throwing into me, they're just not right," he shakes his head.

"Why?" she asks curiously.

After some time of being silent, he responds, "Because my heart already belongs to someone else."

He looks at her, and she's blushing. She's blushing so hard he thinks she might burn. He's not afraid because he's sure she would rise out of ashes like a phoenix if it ever came to it.

She always thought how giving your heart to someone is a painfully metaphorical statement, until she realized it's not. As you fall in love, your heart stops being your own, and you put it in the hands of another person.

She just never thought someone else would entrust her with their heart because she's an incredibly clumsy person. She might drop it unwillingly.

"You have a duty to preform," she lowers her look so she doesn't have to make eye contact with him.

"You sound like them," Stefan huffs.

"Well, my lord," she says extremely silently, "Maybe they're right."

"Do you really believe so?" he asks surprised.

She raises her look to him and even though she can't force herself to speak, her eyes give him the answer. _No. No I do not._

"We deal with so many difficulties," he frowns, "I believe who is going to marry who should be the least of our problems."

After some time his face lights up. "I always talk about wanting to change the world," he locks his eyes on hers, "Maybe I should start with myself."

* * *

"I can see it now," Damon whispers, taking a chair next to his brother by the table.

They're having Sunday lunch all together. He is sitting by the end of the table, between Caroline and his brother, while Katherine and Rebekah are smothering Elena with numerous of questions. She's smiling, and even Rebekah seems more open to having Elena there, despite her initial comments.

Stefan realized Elena has that effect on people, she radiates a certain kind of light which draws people in. She can charm them with her smile and the look in her eyes. That's her greatest weapon.

He thinks he might enjoy this kind of loudness.

"See what?" Stefan asks while carefully studying Elena.

He can't stop staring at her. He can't get enough of her.

"Why you want her," Damon points to Elena, and Stefan shifts his attention to his brother. "She is beautiful. Extremely beautiful. I can see why you would like to - " a smirk dances on Damon's lips, but Stefan stops him mid sentence.

"Please," he huffs tiredly, "Do not finish that sentence."

Damon laughs. "But, I have to warn you brother," his voice becomes half serious, "You can clean her up and give her new clothes, but she still doesn't belong here. She belongs out there. And out there she's not even as half as beautiful."

"Then you're blind," Stefan says while gritting his teeth.

"Do you know she could destroy everything?" Damon says bitterly, "Your position, our family, hell, whole society. Women caused many wars. Is this one really worth it?"

Stefan smiles in Elena's direction. "She is," he can feel Damon stiffen next to him, "But none of that is going to happen, brother, so you can rest easily."

"This won't be enough for you," Damon shakes his head determined, "You may be humble, but even you have your limits."

Stefan stares at him in awe, fearing that his brothers words might be true.

"Miss Gilbert," Damon calls for her, and blood in Stefan's veins turns into ice, "How long do you plan on staying with us?" he asks once he gets her attention.

"As long as our lord wants me to," she answers diplomatically.

Damon smirks. "How long, my lord?"

Stefan's look lingers on Elena, and her cheeks become rosy. "Brother, have another glass of wine," he pours some more wine into Damon's glass to shut him up, knowing alcohol would do the trick.

Caroline takes that time, and Katherine and Rebekah's amusement with Damon, to move herself closer to Elena.

"Miss Gilbert," she greets her while taking a chair next to her.

"Miss Forbes," Elena nods her head with a smile on her lips.

"I've been talking to our lord the other day," she decides to cut to chase as soon as she gets the chance, and Elena's expression grows serious, "He seems to be growing more and more fond of you each day," Caroline comments, a smirk painting itself on her lips.

"Does he?" Elena asks amused, her gaze lingering in space between Caroline and Stefan.

She knew Stefan shares most of his thoughts with Caroline. She doesn't mind. She knows he would never tell anyone something too personal.

"Oh yes," Caroline confirms it, "You know I'm fond of you, don't you?" she directs her question to Elena.

Elena smiles. "Well, I was hoping so, since I'm very fond of you as well," they keep their conversation on minimum tone.

Caroline returns her the same smile. "I know our lord doesn't seem like the rebellious type, or the one who would even take risks, but when he cares for something, or in this case someone," she stills her look on Elena, "He's ready to tear the whole world apart."

Shock becomes evident on Elena's face.

"You never would tell, would you?" Caroline smiles, glancing at Stefan, "He doesn't seem the type. I think only his brother and me are aware of it, and we're both worried. For different reasons, of course. I would rather not discuss his, since they're extremely uncomfortable, but.." she shifts her attention back to Elena, "I do not want to see Stefan heartbroken," she whispers, making sure no one hears her using his first name, "I want to make sure you're ready to endure for him as much as he's for you."

"But - " Elena starts flustered, not knowing what she's talking about.

"If the time comes," Caroline interrupts her, thinking of replacing _if_ with _when._

Elena nods. "If the time comes, I'll stand by him through everything. As long as he wants me."

Caroline seems to catch her breath on her words. She lays her palm on top of Elena's hand and whispers, "Thank you."

* * *

_**AN: Just a filler chapter, hope you enjoyed it nevertheless! :)**_


	11. Chapter 11

Her room is full of sin. They bathe in it, they live in it, they breathe it. They created it.

Every corner of her room is stained with actions which should have never happened. The floor, the walls, curtains neatly pulled over the windows so the world doesn't know their secrets, the couch, the bed, their clothes. Their skin. Especially their skin.

Seasons changed from Summer, over Fall to Winter. Their skin is cracking like brown, rusty leaves under the weight of raindrops. Snow covered outsides surface and children are making angels in it and she's watching them through the window of her bedroom with such longing no one else but her could understand. She misses freedom and innocence and not having a worry in the world. It's like just yesterday she was a child, picking flowers and fruits in the forest, watching her mother sew dresses for wealthy ladies to wear to the ball she once dreamed she will be able to attend. She still feels that way, but she knows that at the age of 16 she's nowhere near to being child anymore. All over the city girls her age are getting engaged, married, thinking about having children. She wonders will there ever be time when being 16 is still considered young and she wishes she could live in that world, under those rules. Life happened to fast, and she still doesn't know where she stands.

The little pond by the castle is covered in ice which would probably crack if she stepped on it and she asks herself is that really such a horrible thing to wish for. Either she cracks, or the ice does.

"What are you thinking about?" he appears behind her and envelops his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She didn't even hear him come in. She falls into his body and wonders will there come a day when she will simply melt into him. She looks forward to that day. He plants a kiss on her cheek and she winces because of the coldness of his lips. There's ice dripping from them, and her cheeks become rosier than they usually are. During the Winter her cheeks are usually changing from the color of red to the color of pink, but they're never the color her skin usually is.

She sighs tiredly, forgetting every thought she ever had once she finds herself in his arms.

"How short life is," she closes her eyes as he removes her dress from her shoulder and presses his lips onto her skin, making her shiver.

His laugh echoes against her skin. "Ridiculous," he waves her statement away, "Life is the longest thing any of us will ever experience."

"But it all moves so fast, don't you think?" she says silently, enjoying his lips exploring her skin, from her shoulder to her neck.

Love is dripping from his lips and making her skin glimmer in all the colors of the rainbow.

You hear a lot of things about love. People talk about loving someone and it makes your heart race. You see people in love and you ache for the same thing, thinking you will never want anything more than you want love. Which is not true, people always want more. She read so many books about love, and they brought tears to her eyes.

But love is never so beautiful until you experience it. It numbs all of your senses and at times the only thing you can hear is thumping of your own heart. It makes you swallow all of your fears and insecurities and you just let go, which makes love dangerous as much as it makes her beautiful.

It's an adventure. It's a story only you can tell.

"I guess so," he answers, clearly not in the mood to think about serious things.

He takes her by the hand and leads her to the couch. Both of them sit down so close to each other they might as well be sitting in each others lap. His lips brush against hers and entire world disappears.

She hums against his lips, and he smiles against hers.

They're creating a melody. Love is a melody.

His kisses are like snowflakes. So soft, and even the little ones can induce a change in her body. Her body temperature escalates from hot to cold in seconds.

He puts one of his hands on her cheek, and the other one lands on her waist, and gently he lowers her down into a lying position and he places himself on top of her. She wonders how can a grown man be as light as a feather on top of her body.

He hates seeing all of her pretty dresses getting crumbled after he leaves.

They're flying in thin air. They're snowflakes and the wind and a whisper no one can hear. They're a secret on both of their lips which must never come out. They're hiding behind four walls like criminals, like love is something to be ashamed of.

If they act like they're guilty, who's to say they're not?

Her dress never goes fully off. They're careful about what they're doing, and know not to push it too far. How far is too far? Sometimes she wants to, and sometimes, she knows he wants it too.

They can't, it's not allowed, there's too many things at risk.

"You know, I never told you," her eyes are closed, her lips barely parted, but enough for the words to come out, "Some times ago, I had an interesting conversation with Miss Forbes," she often doesn't know what to do with her hands and this is one of those situations.

"Oh?" he murmurs against her skin and her insides tickle.

"She was worried about me breaking your heart," her fingers find their way to his hair and she pulls them through it.

He stays silent for a moment, paying all the intention to planting kisses on her skin. "Is there something to be worried about?" he asks half seriously.

A smile dances on her lips. "You're in a much better position to break my heart than I am yours, my lord."

He stops with the kisses and raises his head a little to look into her eyes. "You know that I'd never, right?" he asks gently, removing few strands of hair from her face.

"I know you don't want to," she answers while trying to go back to her normal breathing rhythm.

His kisses always take her breath away and make her heart beat stronger than she thought is humanly possible.

He takes a sitting position and she follows him. "But?" he asks, feeling there's a but coming. There's always a but.

"But our lives are messy," she scoots closer to him, begging for his attention, "We can't go on like this forever."

He puts his arm around her and pulls her closer to him. "I know," he agrees while kissing the side of her head, "I'll figure something out."

That's what scares her the most, that he will get himself in trouble because of her. They say love is hard, but she doesn't think it's supposed to be this hard, and sometimes she asks herself is it worth it. When she finds herself in his arms she finds her answer.

"Tell me," his tone shifts to curious, "What caught your attention out there few moments ago?" he pulls her dress on her shoulders again, making her look appropriate as she did before he walked in.

"You mean, before you came here and so rudely interrupted me with your kisses?" she buries her face in his chest.

He laughs lightly. "Yes, that's exactly what I meant."

She places her head on his chest and allows him to caress her cheek with his fingertips. "Winter," she exhales, "I used to love Winter when I was younger. Those children out there, making angels in the snow, reminded me of those times."

He nods, keeping silent for a moment. "I was never allowed in the snow."

She raises her head from his chest rapidly and looks at him with a look which conveys surprise. "Never?" she asks in disbelief, "How come?"

"They tried to prevent me from getting seriously ill."

"Snow is not deadly," she furrows her brows, thinking how this is a great injustice.

"It's just how it used to be back then," he shrugs it off, not bothered by it too much.

She gets an idea, and a smile lights up her face. "Let's go out now," she proposes, jumping to her feet, "I'll teach you how to make snow angels."

He knits his brows together but smiles at her excitement nevertheless, "Aren't we a little too old for that?"

"We're basically still children," she rolls her eyes at him.

"Elena, I'm the king, and you've been through so much. Much more than many go through in their whole lifetime. We're hardly children."

She frowns, "You never made a snow angel, therefor, I consider you a child still."

He smiles and shakes his head.

She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts. "Please, my lord?" she says with a pleading voice.

He sits there still for a minute, looking at her shimmering eyes and finally says, "All right. Let's get dressed."

She claps her palms happily and throws her arms around his neck once he gets up.

* * *

Once they get dressed, ensuring they will be warm enough in the snow, securing themselves from getting ill, they leave the comfort of the castle and make their way through the snow towards the children. No one but children enjoying the snow would be outside in this weather. At least no one sane enough.

"Who are those children?" Elena asks curiously once she realizes they can't be common children since they're still behind the castle walls.

Stefan shrugs. "Children of people living at the Court, like council members, maybe even guards," he fights his way through the snow, his boots getting wetter and wetter every second, "Caroline's sister is most likely among them."

Elena nods knowingly. She never thought about that. Sometimes she forgets there are so many people living on the Court. It's such a huge place, there's more than enough room for everyone.

Stefan huffs a little, thinking about how Elena is probably the only person who could get him outside in this weather. He's going through torture and she seems to be enjoying herself more than he had ever seen her.

"Are you cold, my lord?" she asks teasingly, dancing through the snow.

"A little," he admits, rubbing his gloves one against the other.

"I wish I could do something to warm you up," her eyes light up and she bites her lower lip as those words come out of her mouth. He doesn't think she really intended to say them out loud.

"Maybe later," he smirks, trying his best to keep his distance from her. That seems to be a difficult task.

"Mhm, later," she answers absentmindedly.

When the children realize they're walking in their direction they stop playing and line up.

"My lord," they greet him simultaneously, and with a quick glance over the line of children both Stefan and Elena realize Alexia is not among them.

Stefan gives them a warm smile and a nod in return.

One of the girls with few brown curls sticking out from under her hat keeps her gaze on Elena. "Are you a princess?" she finally asks.

Elena's cheeks warm up because of the fact someone could ever mistake her for a princess. After she composes herself she shakes her head. "No, I am not," she smiles at the girl.

"A queen?" the other one asks silently, and Elena can hear Stefan chuckling beside her.

"Of course not," she answers, a little bit surprised this time.

The first girls eyes go wide as she asks her next question. "Are you going to be a queen?"

Elena's breath gets stuck in her throat.

"Don't be silly," one of the boys says, his brows furrowed, and Elena thanks him silently for saving her from answering that question. "If she's not a princess it's unlikely that she could ever be a queen," he says proudly.

"Why not?" the girl asks, clearly angry at his proclamation.

"Because it's the law," he spits out in a manner which reminds her of Damon, and Elena wonders is it even possible that somehow Damon is his father. Even if he was she knows it would never matter.

"Well, I think that law is unfair," the girls crosses her arms over her chest as she says determined, "She should be able to be a queen if she wants to."

Elena blushes at the irony of this innocent conversation with a bunch of children.

"Oh, do you?" Stefan finally voices himself.

"Y-yes, my lord," answers the girl, clearly afraid she said something the king doesn't like, therefor afraid of being punished.

Stefan crouches in front of her and smiles widely. "I think that's a wonderful idea."

The girl lets out a breath of relief and smiles at Stefan. "She's very beautiful, beautiful enough to be a queen."

Stefan looks up at Elena and smiles. _Yes, she is, is what he wants to say._

All of the children nod and no one makes a sound to counter that, not even the boy who reminds her of Damon.

"Well, I think all of you girls are beautiful enough to be queens as well," Elena smiles at the girl with enough courage to express her opinion.

"I don't want to be a queen," one of the girls steps out, "I want to be a writer, Miss," she says sheepishly.

Damon alike boy barks in laughter. "Women can't write!"

_He must have some of Damon's genes, she thinks for herself._

"I think you can be whatever you want to be," Elena tells her once he sees her face falling down. Her faces brightens up and she smiles courteously at Elena.

"Now," she claps with her palms and smiles mischievously, "I need your help with something," she looks at Stefan who began to rise to his feet.

"With whatever for, Miss?"

"I acquired some terrible knowledge several moments ago," Stefan listens her talk and concludes how all those reading lessons did a miracle for her vocabulary and he smiles proudly, "Our lord over here never made a snow angel."

All of the children's faces adapt an expression of shock.

"He doesn't know how to, I'm afraid," she says sympathetically.

All of them shift their attention to Stefan, shock still evident on their faces.

"Are you willing to help me teach him?" she pleads.

All of them agree to do so. No one says no to the king. But then again, how many people get a chance to bury the king in the snow?

They were successful in teaching him how to make an angel, but unfortunately, not adapt to such low temperatures, he made a request to go back inside after only several minutes.

They went back to her room, requesting some tea to warm up which one of the maids brought in no time. She also provided them with towels in case their hair got wet from the snow.

"Oh, thank you!" Elena throws her arms around Stefan's neck once the maid is gone, "That was so much fun!" she says and he thinks how she has some messed up idea of what fun is. "Oh, I've missed doing this so much," she throws herself on the couch.

"You really enjoy snow so much?" he asks in disbelief. People usually do not greet it as cheerfully as she did. He hates it, but if he knew how much she loves it he would have wished for it sooner.

"Oh yes," she says with a dreamy look in her eyes, "I absolutely adore it."

He smiles at her face expression, and some times passes before either of them says anything again.

"You know, you were amazing with those children out there," he comments.

She blushes and lowers her look. "I love children," she admits, because she really does. She adored her little brother, and she misses him terribly. He will forever stay nine years old, just a child.

"Do you want some of your own?" he surprises them both with that question.

Her look stays lowered. "I always thought I'd have some, yes," she feels uncomfortable about being asked those questions so she turns the question around, "How about you?"

"Yes," he answers instantly. He moves towards and sits on the couch next to her. He puts his finger under her chin and makes her raise her look up. "With rosy cheeks and big chestnut eyes."

For second time in the last hour her breath gets caught in her throat. Slowly she lowers her cheek on his open palm and somehow manages to plant a kiss there.

"Or the ones with hair like stardust and eyes like early spring," her cheeks become red.

He smiles and leans his lips closer to hers until he feels contact.

She allows herself something a girl in her position should never do.

_She allows herself to dream._


	12. Chapter 12

He comes to her somewhere around eleven in the evening, just as she was getting ready for bed. She dresses herself into a nightgown made out of silk, almost transparent light shade of pink. Unnecessary pillows fly from her bed to the chair next to it, and she pulls the sheets off of the bed to settle herself in when he knocks on the door three times, gently, silently. She knows it him, it can't be anyone else but him, so she doesn't bother with covering herself up, just hurries to open the door for him.

And when she does, his breath gets stuck somewhere he can't reach. He almost chokes on his own words because she's standing before him and she's beautiful _so beautiful so breathtakingly beautiful_ with her long brown hair sprawled across her back and that silky nightgown so close to her body like it's part of her skin.

He eyes her with curiosity and hunger and admiration and everything else a man can hold over a woman and her skin becomes warm under his look.

"Come with me," finally, he whispers, "I want to show you something," a smile dances on his lips as he says those words.

"Now?" she furrows his brows in wonder, "Isn't it late, my lord? Someone will see us," she sticks her head out in the hallway, wondering how did he get to her room unnoticed.

"There are no guards here at this time of the night," a smile never leaves his features and it's so contagious that she has to smile as well.

He puts his hand out for her to hold and after few seconds of hesitation she puts her hand on his and their fingers intertwine. His smile becomes wider, if that's even possible, and when she quietly shuts the door of her bedroom behind herself, he pulls her with him in a hurry.

"Why are we in such a hurry?" she asks silently, her bare feet making an echo every time they meet with the cold tiles underneath.

"With my brother gone visiting our relatives we should be alone in these quarters," he whispers, "But you can never be too cautious."

She wonders where they're going but trusts him enough not to ask any questions.

They stop in front of a room not too far away from her own and when his fingers envelop a round, gold knob, she asks with a crease on the bridge of her nose, "Where are we?"

"My room," he answers in the same silent tone of voice she had used. He opens the door and steps in. She eyes him wearily, not sure how she feels about being in his room in the middle of the night. A smirk paints over his features as he shakes his head lightly, "Come on in," he says, sensing her weariness.

She keeps her gaze on him for few more seconds before she steps into his room and notices it's not so different from hers. The same canopy bed, just different bedding, the mix of blue and red. It seems softer as well, like a mix between silk and plush. There aren't as many pillows on his bed as there are on hers and after some time she starts thinking why, out of all of the things in his room, did she notice his bed first. She goes over every corner of his room quickly, trying to place everything in her mind even though there's not much to place. It's just an ordinary room, probably the same as every other room in the castle. It has very little personal touches and she finds that sad, because this doesn't seem to be his room at all, just the place he sleeps in. She wants to ask him more about it but feels like now is not the time.

"You said your brother is visiting some relatives?" she asks, trying to fake curiosity, just because she feels like she should say something.

"Yes," he nods affirmatively, "Neither of us are very fond of our fathers side of the family, but my brother shares something with them that I don't," he frowns, and this increases her curiosity.

"Which is?" she asks innocently.

He stills his gaze on her. "Love for alcohol."

_Oh._

"Isn't Miss Mikaelson from your fathers side of the family?" she finds another question to ask to dig both of them out of this uncomfortable situation.

"Yes, she's the daughter of my father's uncle."

"And Miss Pierce is a relative from your mothers side?" she asks, just to make sure.

"Yes, my aunt's daughter," his voice grows warmer this time.

There are no more questions to ask and her skin starts to prickle. She stares at him in wonder, hoping that soon he will reveal the reason why he had brought her here.

After few minutes of staring back at her, it's like he wakes up out of some weird dream, shakes his head lightly, rubs his eyes and says, "This is what I wanted to show you," he points towards the piano behind himself, probably the only thing which makes their rooms different. "I thought it might be better to bring you here by night than by day," he says shyly, which makes her smile.

"You believe it's better to have a girl in your room during the night than during the day?" she twirls in the place, only slightly, the hem of her nightgown touching the floor and making itself more acquainted with her hips every time she makes a twirl. "I believe there's a fault in your logic, my lord."

He flushes, and she finds it adorable, because usually he's the one who makes her skin red, not the other way around. She enjoys the moment before she asks, "Do you play?"

"Oh yes," he answers cheerfully, "My mother taught me how, on this very piano. It used to belong to her. I," the red on his cheeks deepens, "I wanted to play for you."

She's delighted by that idea, it fills her with joy that he wants to share something of his with her.

"I would love to," she answers shyly, begging her cheeks not to blush, "But isn't it too late for that?" she knows her prays are wasted because she can feel her cheeks burning like she's leaning close to fire.

"These walls do not carry any sound," he brushes her off.

"Oh, then I really would love to hear you play," she stops twirling and claps with the palms of her hands.

He motions for her to sit in the armchair next to the piano, while he places himself on a stool in front of it. He pushes the lid upwards and places his fingers on the keys. He starts playing the softest melody she has ever heard, the one that begins so silently that you will miss it if you don't listen carefully. She identifies it with innocence and childhood and happiness. The cotton of the back of her armchair becomes one with the silky material which is separating the chair from her bare skin, and she feels like she's floating on a cloud. His fingers are barely pressing onto the keys, she has a feeling he's not pressing them at all, and that the music is all inside of her head. Then, his fingers start moving faster, and falling onto the keys harder, and the music becomes louder and more intense, but not uncomfortable. He changes his rhythm, it becomes more serious, dangerous, painful, but she still finds it soothing. When the music shifts back to being silent and relaxing she knows it's coming to an end. She scoots to the edge of an armchair and when he stops playing and his fingers move away from the keys she claps her palms with a smile on her face.

"That was wonderful," she cheers him on.

"Do you really think so?" he asks shyly.

"Oh yes," her voice is warm, almost motherly.

"That is one of the first pieces my mother taught me how to play on this thing," there's a dreamy look in his eyes, he's probably traveling back into the past with a little help from his memory.

"Well, you perfected it," a wide smile paints her futures, "I wish I knew how to play," she sighs in disappointment. She wishes she knew how to do anything useful, or at least entertaining.

"I can teach you," his eyes light up, "Come," he calls for her, scoots on the stool and taps for her to sit next to him.

After a moment of hesitation, so short he probably hasn't even noticed, she gets up from the armchair she's been sitting in and goes to sit next to him.

The stool is small, tight, the two of them barely fit on it together, but they manage it. Their arms and hips and legs are touching, they're sitting there like conjoined twins if it weren't for the fire between them, the fire that burns so brightly only a fool would miss it.

He shows her the basic keys, he teaches her how to make a sound. Hours pass and both of them grow tired but neither stops.

Finally, he puts his fingers on hers and whispers, "Let me lead you."

His lips are so close to her ear _so so so so close too close_ his voice is stuck in there and she can hear nothing but those words. _Let me lead you._

She nods in confirmation.

Their fingers seem like glued to one another. He starts pulling her fingers over the keys, slowly, tenderly, lightly, so that only her fingertips touch the surface of the keys.

When he lets go of her fingers, she lets out a breath she didn't even know she's been holding.

"Follow me," he instructs her silently, his voice hoarse.

She watches him as he plays the simplest melodies for her to learn. She realizes she has no interest in studying music, at least not as much interest as she has in studying him. There's so much passion in him while he does the things that he loves. His eyes become brighter and the lines of his face turn softer, there's a glow on his skin and his nose crinkles and there's always a smile on his face no matter how hard he tries to concentrate. He seems relaxed, there's not a bit of tension in his body, he's so light. Her look travels to his fingers, those long, linger fingers, graciously pressing his fingertips onto the keys, so gently, slowly, like he's trying not to hurt them. Like he's afraid they will break under his touch if he pushes harder.

She wants him to play her like he plays that piano. She wants to be a key under his fingertips, she wants him to fear of her skin cracking under his touch. She wants to know how it feels like, that tenderness, she wants know how it feels like for someone to care about her wishes and pleasure and she wants someone to be careful with her, so careful that they touch her with so much precaution out of fear of breaking her.

"Are you tired?" he asks when he notices her absentminded look.

"No," she shakes her head to emphasize her point.

"Do you wish to lie down?" he offers her another solution.

"Yes," she agrees to it.

"Let me take you back to your room then."

"I do not wish to go back to my room."

Their eyes meet and his are full of confusion and hers of fear and she wishes she never said those words but she's so glad that she did because _she wants him she wants him_ in her on her she wants him now and forever and if she can't have him she will die.

When he realizes what she's saying his look drops, releasing hers, and it takes him a while to look back at her again.

Then, he leans closer until their lips meet. He puts his arms around her waist, cursing the thin fabric which prevents him for feeling her bare skin, and he pulls her _close closer so close_ until she's basically sitting in his lap.

Their kisses are fast and sloppy and she feels like she's doing this for the first time and in a way, she is. When she finds herself in his lap she wraps her legs around his waist and pulls fingers of both of her hands through his hair and moans into his mouth. She starts taking off his clothes, first the belt around his waist which she takes care of with no problem. His silver jacket falls off of his shoulders onto the ground and she starts unbuttoning his washed out beige shirt. She does it clumsily, her fingers are sweaty. She takes care only of couple of buttons before his lips fall from hers onto her neck and her head falls back out of pleasure. Her back arches under his arm and her whole body comes closer to his. The silk of her torso is pressing onto the bare skin of his chest and there's only so little fabric between them, so little of what's dividing them.

"I want you," he murmurs into her skin and every inch of it echoes with his voice. He's everywhere.

"Then take me," she manages to say while fighting for her breath.

His fingers dug deeper into her flesh and he lifts both of them up. He keeps kissing every part of her exposed skin while he carries her to the bed. He lowers her on his bed, slowly, gently, and she falls into the comfort of his covers. She watches him as he stands in front of her. He pulls the shirt out of his pants and over his head and she stills her look on his torso.

He lowers himself on her, slowly, until he's close enough for their lips to meet.

His kisses are poisonous, life changing, mind altering. Her lips start cracking under his and her tongue is about to unravel a series of words. She swallows them. She knows better.

They roll over and now she's on top of him, her hands going to meet his, their fingers intertwining. There are no battle scars on his chest, she finally concludes, only one scar on his arm, under his shoulder. The skin of his chest is smooth, just like the skin on his face, and she presses her lips against it. She starts planting little butterfly kisses all over his torso, from the crook of his neck to where his pants begin.

"You know that I love you, don't you?" he whispers before gently flipping her over. She finds herself on her back again, among the comfy covers. He lays there next to her, on his elbow, and he removes some strains from her face, caressing her cheek. "I love you so much that I'm ashamed of saying it out loud because there are no words good enough to tell you how I really feel for you," he sets his gaze on her, and she closes her eyes as he pulls his fingers over her cheek.

"I love you as well," she replies, "And I believe those words are enough."

He smiles at her before his lips fall back on her neck and her body arches again. He removes the silk from her shoulder to coat it with kisses. His fingers reach for the hem of her nightgown and he starts pulling it up her body, slowly. He knows he could have had it done in seconds, but he decides to enjoy it. To let her enjoy it. The feeling of silk on her body, the feeling as it leaves her body and cold air finds itself a home on her skin. She bounces from the bed a little, helping him to get her nightgown over her head.

Once he pulls it over her head he throws it on the pile made out of his clothes between the piano and the bed.

He kneels there next to her, his knees sinking deeper into the mattress of his bed, and she's _naked completely naked_ and she's on his bed and she's his and a self serving smile crosses his lips. He notices how dark her skin is and wonders how come he never noticed it before. Like she's been in the sun for weeks, like she's been tanning every day more and more but it's the middle of Winter and now he knows she's not fond of Summer that much. This must be her natural skin color, not as pale as in most girls, but not as dark as cocoa either. Somewhere in between. _Perfect golden middle._ Her skin tone looks perfect under these lights and while she's lying on the blue silky sheets of his bed.

_She's beautiful,_ is the first thing that crosses his mind, but he knows she's so much more. She's angelic with the features of demon who's making him to commit a sin and the idea never seemed more alluring until now. Maybe that's the right word to describe her - alluring. Like no other woman is, like no other woman will be, at least not to him.

Most of all, she's delicate. He knows she's scared, he can see it in her eyes. Neither of them have been in this situation before. She's been used, but never loved. It would seem that neither of them know what to do, but every move their make is natural.

"Is there something wrong?" she asks once she notices he's not making a move for a long time.

"Wrong?" he asks surprised, not knowing what could possibly be wrong in this moment.

"With me?" she looks away from him.

"You're perfect," he lowers his lips on her neck, making her back arch once again, leaving a gap between her body and the bed. "I was just trying to remember every curve of your body."

So he does. His lips pay attention to her neck, and his fingers start traveling up and down her long legs. He can feel her scars on his fingertips every time he reaches her thighs, and she can feel them fading every time he touches them.

Every scar in existence within her he buries deep with his gentle touch and intoxicating kisses. She forgets the past and the future because the only thing that matters is the present and this moment when she's in love and loved and is about to give someone the only thing she's left with - herself.

When his lips start going lower, his hands move up, until they finally meet in the middle. His fingers fondling her hips, and his lips kissing her stomach.

She finds out how it is to be in the center of attention. She learns how to be intimate with someone without being used for someone's else pleasure. She starts accepting that this can be a wonderful experience, but also starts feeling guilty because she's only taking, not giving. But she _can't stop him she won't stop him_ when he's making her feel so appreciated.

"Stefan," she says his name silently, "I love you," her fingers find their way to his hair because she feels uncomfortable with just letting them hang there, "I love you so much," she has no control over the words coming out of her mouth and for the first time she feels out of control and it is _magnificent._

He smiles against her skin.

He raises his lips from her body and comes closer to her face so their eyes can meet. Before his lips fall on hers he replies, "I love you too."

He moves on top of her and she manages to unbutton his pants and push them down his legs until they're close to his feet. He shakes them off so they fall on the ground.

He enters her slowly, with her hot breath on his cheek. When she feels him on her entrance she throws her arms around his neck, making him fall closer to her body. His face falls on her bosom and he starts kissing her skin which burns under him and she wonders how come neither of them are on fire yet. She wraps her legs around him, urging him to continue, hungry for him. So he does.

When her muscles wrap around him she lets out a silent cry of pleasure, making him stiffen for a moment, but when she realizes she's fine he continues. At first their bodies go through normal reactions, but after few moments..

..after few moments the world falls apart. It burns down. There's no wind, or snow, or buildings, or people. They're all alone with the stars and the moon.

The universe is theirs.

His kisses make her skin crack open. Her whole body is on fire and she rolls in it. She wants to burn, she wants every inch of her skin to catch on fire, from her toes to the top of her head. She feels like she has a fever, like her insides are going to explode, like there's something inside of her that begs to be released but her body is keeping it hidden. She's sure it's only a matter of time until it finds its way out, even if it has to tear her skin. The most frightening thing is that she can't wait until it happens. Her heart is beating too fast, faster than it's normal, her skin is shimmering from sweat, she is all slippery and so is he.

_He._ She feels insane, but in the rare seconds of sanity she remembers where she is and who she's with. She's Elena Gilbert, she's no one. She's no ones daughter, or sister, or a friend, not anymore. She's an orphan. But she's in love and he loves her and because of him she is someone. He is so perfect and gentle and his kisses are words lingering in the air, words people forgot to say because they're afraid of how beautiful they are. He's a light which, if you look at it directly for too long, blinds you. He smells sweet and musky at the same time.

She's his. She always was and always will be and he's making love to her and she never made love before and she can't keep track of where his lips are at because they're everywhere. She can feel them on the parts of her body by which they're nowhere near.

He's turning her inside out like she's an instrument, but all she can hear is a mind numbing melody.

He's making sure every part of her skin is covered in kisses so that nothing feels left out. One moment his fingers are on the curve of her neck and the other on the small of her back. He's tracking down her spine with his fingertip and she's dripping pleasure in colors of silver and red.

She's so soft.

Her eyes are closed, her head arched back, her eyelids are trembling. She doesn't want to open her eyes out of fear that she's dreaming.

He kisses her jaw. Every inch of her neck. Her collar bone on both sides. Shoulders. Each arm and the tip of every finger. Her bosom. He kisses her everywhere his lips can reach.

Every time he refused one of his fathers whores he had no idea what he's missing. Some people might say he's a fool for doing so, but he's sure none of those women feel like Elena does.

So smooth. His fingers are sinking into her skin like she's honey.

She tastes like chocolate and cream on some places, then on others she's salty. She's a variety of tastes. She's a spoonful of something he never knew he loves so much until this moment.

She still smells like snow, that smell you can't describe and it's driving you insane.

Her arms are still around his neck, keeping him close, but her legs are slipping away every now and then, like she forgets they're there.

Her hips are moving in the same rhythm as his.

He moves his lips to hers and her eyes flutter open.

She smiles at him.

And he's sure he will never forget that smile.

* * *

**_AN: Well, this was bound to happen, so now we have to see what will come of it. Was it a mistake or a blessing? _**

**_Thank you for your wonderful reviews :*_**

**_((As an answer to a guest review - no, we will not discover Elena is royal and that her and Stafan can be together. That's too easy. I don't like easy.))_**


	13. Chapter 13

"Stefan," she says his name silently, softly, let's it roll down her tongue like she used to do with snowflakes when she was a child, "I have to go back to my room."

His eyelids flutter open and by the tense lines around his eyes and a tired expression in them she knows he didn't get enough sleep. The realization of her being there hits him. He never woke up next to someone before. The memory of last night brings a smile to his face.

"No," he shakes his head against the pillow and puts his arm around her, pulling her closer to him.

Her body falls perfectly into the gap until there's not an inch of free space between them.

"Someone will come in," she protests, but barely, because she doesn't want to part from him. She doesn't want this to end. She belongs with him and going anywhere else seems like an awfully unpleasant idea.

"No one will come in here without my permission," he exhales, his eyelids closing again. She wishes he keeps them open so she can have access to those beautiful eyes of his.

Every inch of her skin is covered with his. They're like glued together. Their legs are intertwined, her chest is pressing onto his, he has his arm wrapped around hers and his fingers are caressing her back.

"The longer we wait, the harder it becomes for me to leave unnoticed," she explains but doesn't move away from him. She doesn't have enough strength to tear herself out of his grip.

She blows some hot air on his eyelids like she's trying to make something disappear, and his eyes open once again, this time completely. "I do not want you to leave," he says once his eyes lock with hers, "I want to keep you here, in my bed, until the end of times," he nuzzles his nose against hers.

"Mmm," she moans once his fingers start traveling up and down her spine, making her shiver in pleasure, "I do not think I have enough strength in my body for that," her arm travels to the curve of his neck and her fingers start playing with the ends of his hair.

He smiles. "I do not want to let you go because I want you to be mine," he answers, aware of how selfish he sounds and not caring, at least not this early in the morning.

"I am yours," it becomes harder for her to breath after saying those words, "No matter where I am."

He takes some comfort in her words, "Your place is here with me and I will do everything in my power to make that happen."

She has no heart to tell him how impossible that is, how he will never succeed in that. Or maybe she doesn't tell him because she hopes he can make it happen.

Hope is such a dangerous thing, sometimes it seems like it's a perfect device created by devil himself. It seems like it backfired on him as well.

His lips lean on hers and they find themselves in a middle of a passionate kiss, completely entangled in each other, sharing the same thought at the same time. _Every day should begin like this._

Their skin is as thin as paper, they can feel each other perfectly. They're so close together that there's not even enough room for air between them, their skin can't breathe, it's suffocating alongside their lungs which beg for air, but they are too busy to care.

Royal blue covers fly from her body as she arches herself up in sitting position, pulling him with her since he refuses to break their kiss. Her lips curve into a smile as their kisses turn soft and innocent.

"I should get dressed," she says once their lips part so they can catch some air.

"Why?" a smirk appears on his lips, "You're perfect like this."

He eyes her carefully. Her lean legs still entangled in silky sheets, her thighs perfect in their painful imperfection, her tiny waist and flat stomach and just enough flesh on her hips. A gentle curve of her breasts, her long neck and wide shoulders, the curving of her back and the line where her spine rests, long chestnut hair covering the most of it.

"What is this?" he removes her hair and pulls his finger over a vanilla colored mark that looks a lot like a tattoo, placed under her left shoulder.

She doesn't even have to look to know to what he's referring to.

"A word," she tells him, "My mothers family is from India, few generations ago they came to these lands. They had to adjust, but they practiced their customs in private. My mother was the first from her family to marry an Englishman, which was unheard of. They were supposed to stick together, not mix races and religion, but my mother was so in love that she didn't care, so her family disowned her. I never met them, and my mother rarely talked about them. I know that she was happy with the life she chose for herself, but it must hurt, for your family to leave you simply because you fell in love with the person who is, in their eyes, wrong. We lived like everyone here live and my mother had let go off of her customs. I often heard her pray in Hindi, but she never taught us the language like her mother had taught her. She told me some stories because she thought it would be good for me to know where I come from," she touches the mark on her skin with the tip of her finger, "My mother took me to a former Hindu priest she knew also lost touch with their people, and he got me this tattoo when I was just a baby. My mother told me that's an old custom from where she comes from, and it's the only word on Hindi that I know."

"What is it?" he asks curiously, but with amount of warmth in his voice, clearly affected by her story.

"_Mauna,_" she smiles lightly, "In Hindi, it means silence, also knows as a vow of silence, not talking, inner silence known when words, thoughts and actions are stilled. My mother told me that when I was born, I did not cry, that the first few minutes I just kept taking the world in with my big, gray eyes, like I'm planning for something. That's why she got me this."

He pulls his finger over the mark one more time before kissing the place on her skin where the mark rests.

"Remember when I asked you to tell me a secret, something that you want, and you said you want either kiss from me or silence, but that I can provide you only with one of those?"

"Yes," he whispers.

"I think you were wrong, my lord," she looks over her shoulder at the mark resting on her back, "Here is your silence."

* * *

"You seem awfully cheerful today," Caroline observes when she notices a wide smile on Stefan's face, one he can't hide no matter how hard he tries.

Elena blushes knowingly.

It took them some time to leave the bed, but somewhere after million kisses, innumerable amount of times when his fingertips would land on her skin, making her tremble, and countless smiles before, between and after kisses, they succeeded in getting out of bed.

There was a chatter and echoing sound of footsteps in the hallway in front of his room. There was no way for Elena to go from his room to hers, in her nightgown, unnoticed. So he got dressed and slipped into her room, once he was sure there's no one in the hallway near him, and picked out one of the dresses for her to wear out of her wardrobe.

She seemed pleasantly surprised by his choice, so she slipped into the dress without hesitation.

For him, watching her dress was like someone taking away his present from him just as he got to sneak a peek into the box.

He still watched her amazed, though, as her long legs disappeared behind the thick fabric and as the same fabric enveloped her waist, stilling itself on her hips, and around her breasts, perfectly.

He sent one of the guards patrolling the hallway on some silly errand to make sure no one sees her coming out of his room and they made their way towards the dining room for breakfast, even though the breakfast time passed long time ago.

_"I'm starving," she whispered to him as they kept moving down the hall._

_A smile plays on his lips, making his whole face seems brighter. "I know how you feel."_

_Next time she speaks her voice becomes husky, "Do you think it has anything to do with last night?"_

_He tries to swallow a laugh. "I recall we lost an awfully lot energy."_

When they enter the dining hall, they seem surprised to find out it's not empty, Caroline is there. Stefan leaves Elena with her and rushes to kitchen to inform the maids more breakfast is required. When he came back he overheard Caroline and Elena discussing some mundane stuff, but by the look in Caroline's eyes he knows she's onto something.

"Spill the beans, Your Grace," she teases him, the look in her eyes giving her away. She's having too much fun.

Caroline is too smart for her own good, she probably connected things already, or is about to.

"Oh," he shrugs it off, "Just one of those days."

"Mhm," her looks keeps shifting between him and Elena, "So," she decides to change the topic once she notices how uncomfortable Elena is, and she knows Stefan is not telling anything, "Are you excited for your birthday?"

"Birthday?" Elena asks curiously, sipping on the ginger ale.

"There's a month left until that monumental occasion," he jokes.

All of a sudden Elena feels her chest squeeze - she didn't even know Stefan's birthday is coming up.

"Nonsense," Caroline smirks teasingly, waving him off, "Kings 19th birthday? They probably started planning it months ago," she jokes, but it's most likely true.

"19th, huh?" he asks, eyeing her hazily, "Time flies."

"It sure does," she says with a smile on her face, "I feel like your 10th birthday was just yesterday. Do you remember that one?" she grins.

Stefan gives her an eye.

She shifts her attention to Elena. "Damon dared him to kiss the Princess of Monaco. She is two years older than us, and with that, taller," she laughs at the memory, "So when our little king here tried to kiss her, he was on his toes, lips puckering in her direction, she shoved him away, so hard that he almost fell, and started yelling at him how the kiss would seal their marriage and she's already hopelessly in love," by the time she finishes her sentence she's laughing so loud, so not lady like.

Elena laughs as well, glancing into Stefan's direction.

Stefan cracks a smile as well, even though his reputation is on the line.

"Anyway," Caroline says when she manages to compose herself, "With our Lord's birthday coming up, we need new dresses," her eyes shimmer in Elena's direction, and Elena pulls a lazy smile over her lips, "Which means we have to go right away."

"Where?" Elena asks in panic.

"To the fitting, of course," Caroline doesn't even notice her reaction, she just motions for her to get up, and Elena knows she has no other choice.

* * *

_**AN: So there you go, the meaning behind the title. It's nothing big, but I thought it might be a nice touch :)**_

_**I'm also not going to steal their happiness right away, I'm not the devil ;)**_


	14. Chapter 14

Caroline was absolutely right, the people at the Court have been planning Stefan's birthday for months. Or at least they have been looking forward to the day, because only few days after Caroline mentioned it over the breakfast, the preparations have started. Women of the Court started attending the fittings for their new gowns in groups, and Elena was thankful Caroline was smart enough to take the two of them to the fitting before all the mess started. She hated crowds, she especially hated crowds which kept whispering unpleasant words behind her back. Sometimes even shouting.

Maids were running around the corridors, taking out the decorations, ironing tablecloths and flags and million other surface covering materials. Court chefs started discussing what to make for the feast - from the main dish to pastries. Delicious food was the main topic of their conversation even during their time off.

Invitations have been sent, to various princes and princesses and dukes and other royalty. Elena started feeling nervous because of having to spend a whole night among people she doesn't belong, and who most certainly do not want her there.

For love, you endure, and love endures for you as well.

Stefan often tried to calm her down with kisses and gentle touches, but she was still tense. She loved living at the Court, because of him, because of Caroline who became a good friend of hers, even because of Katherine who was friendly enough to engage with her in conversation from time to time. That doesn't mean she became deaf to other people's words, how she doesn't belong there, how she's a common tart, how the king took pity of her and now has no heart to tell her to leave. Stefan's word was final, no one could make her leave but him, but they could make her stay there absolutely uncomfortable. Some of them tried, by grimacing whenever she gave them a friendly smile. She even overheard some of them discussing how people outside are wondering who is this mysterious woman living at the Court.

The morning of his birthday she didn't see him at all. His brother and some of his cousins who came to the Court early took him hunting, and she felt awfully lonely without him. She got used to having him around most of the time, when there weren't any urgent matters to take care of. She skipped breakfast and stayed in her bed for the better part of the morning. Caroline was worried she won't come to lunch either, so she picked her up on her way to the dining hall, trying to start a conversation, but Elena wasn't in the mood.

"You miss him that much, huh?" Caroline asks, almost like she doesn't believe it's possible to miss someone so much, especially someone who's not that far away. "It's only been few hours," she comments. She feels free to do so since no one is around to hear them, everyone are running around, adding final touches to their work. Women locked themselves in their rooms, fasting, so they do not look blown up in their gowns this evening.

"I'm just used to having him around all the time, is all," Elena answers absentmindedly, wondering where Stefan is at the moment.

Caroline nods knowingly. "Well, I'm sure one night apart is not equal to the end of the world. Maybe it serves you some good, it probably gave you a chance to rest, gather some strength."

Words about how she's probably right are on the tip of Elena's tongue, when panic shoots through her. She looks at Caroline wearily, speaking with caution, trying to keep her voice from trembling, "Night apart?" she asks like she has no idea to what Caroline is referring.

Since they made love for the first time, Elena slept in Stefan's room. They didn't make love every night, truthfully, they barely made love at all, out of various reasons, but they couldn't bare to be without each other. By now, Elena became an expert in sneaking out of his room before anyone wakes up. Before he wakes up. She knew he would try to stop her, and the times when guards are not patrolling the corridor in which the king sleeps are rare.

Caroline chuckles. "Please, do not make a fool out of me, I am not blind," she glances at Elena, her eyes dancing on Elena's scared figure, "Nor am I going to think any less of you. It's clear that you love him, and it's clear that he loves you."

Elena blushes upon hearing those words.

"Do you worry, though?" Caroline asks curiously.

"Worry about what?" Elena replies, clearly not knowing to what Caroline is referring to.

"All the pressure from the Council. Him being surrounded by so many princesses, especially today."

"Sometimes," Elena answers honestly. _All the time._

"I think he will think of something," Caroline tries to encourage her, "He always does, when it comes to people he loves."

They keep eating in silence, even though neither of them feels especially hungry.

"I am not judging, truthfully, I am not," Caroline has some problem with arranging the words so they don't sound accusing, "But aren't you scared of staying with a child?"

Elena catches her breath.

She remembers all those times when those unknown men took her, she remembers fearing of getting pregnant. She never did. She thought God is watching over her, keeping her safe in at least this one department, but there's a part of her that always thought, _What if I can't stay with a child?_

Stefan and her slept together only twice, so the chances of her becoming pregnant are low, if she indeed can get pregnant. Maybe not being able to be his wife is a good thing, especially if she can't provide him an heir.

"I did not even think about it," Elena blushes out of embarrassment.

Caroline looks at her sympathetically. "If it happens, you have nothing to worry about."

Elena knows it's a lie, but she accepts it.

* * *

When the time comes, she slips into her new icy blue gown.

Her back is half bare, as well as her shoulders. There are little, thin sleeves around her upper arm, looking like little icicles dripping down her arm thanks to the color of the dress. The dress is low cut, so the top of her bosom is visible. The shirt of the dress is the lighter shade of blue when compared to the skirt. The shirt is tight around her, squeezing around her waist, made out of the finest cotton. The dress starts around her hips and widens around her legs, and the smooth cotton of light color is covered with deep blue silk.

Her face is flushed, her cheeks rosier and skin paler than the usual, but there's a new color to her lips, color that resembles the color of blood. There's also a new shine to her eyes which reflects in the mirror when she looks herself in it.

Caroline stops by to help her pin up her hair. She leaves her naturally wavy hair as it is so when she pins it up it looks like her hair has more volume than when she straightens it with a brush. She leaves few strands hanging by the side of her face.

"Since, so far, you didn't attend any Court events, I thought I might inform you about how things work around here," she says on their way to the room where everyone is gathered, "I know you miss Stefan, but you won't see much of him tonight," she informs her sadly.

Elena's eyes pop out at that sentence and her voice is hoarse when she asks, "Why?" like she's been crying for hours.

"The king doesn't really participate in the festivities," Caroline wiggles her nose, "He stands before his throne to greet the guests, or to talk to them, but those conversations are very short," she explains, "Then he sits there and keeps track of everything that is going on."

Elena's mood drops instantly. "Alone?"

Caroline nods to confirm her suspicion. "Well, if he were married, the queen would be sitting next to him."

Some times passes before either of them speak. When they reach the big, wooden door which are open entirely, Caroline turns to Elena one more time and tries to speak through the chatter and music, "When we go in there we will greet him, bow and everything, and then go and take our seats. You will be fine," she glances at Elena encouragingly, "I will be with you the whole time. Stefan will be busy, talking to people he hasn't seen in a long time, people he has to maintain good relationship with in the name of peace. Do you think you can do this?" she takes Elena's hands into hers and squeezes them tightly.

Elena exhales deeply and makes a light nod. "Yes," she answers silently.

When they enter the room, no one pays attention to them. Far on the other side of the room she notices Katherine and Rebekah sitting by the table, two empty chairs across them, probably intended for her and Caroline. As they make their way towards the other side of the room, some people greet Caroline and she greets them back, still lingering by Elena's side.

Elena is thankful for her presence.

She notices Stefan standing before the throne, surrounded by his brother and two other young men she doesn't recognize.

His sandy hair lights in the dark room more than the fiery torches on the wall, or candles surrounding them from all sides. His posture is graceful, but also relaxed. He's hiding his hands behind his back.

Damon is saying something with a smirk on his lips and a glass in his hand, and the two other men are smiling. Stefan is smiling as well, but he doesn't look like he's listening to whatever Damon is talking about, he's swallowing the room with him look absentmindedly.

Then his eyes fall on her, and they widen as well as his smile, which also gets deeper. His hands fall from behind his back to his sides as he takes her all in.

His breath gets caught in his throat, and by the look in his eyes she knows he's enjoying the sight of her in that dress.

She has to swallow her own smile, she has to stay serious, she's not allowed to show any affection. She can feel Caroline's warning look on her, so she straightens her face and composes herself.

Both her and Caroline stop simultaneously in front of Stefan. "Your Grace," they lower their heads and bow.

Stefan holds his gaze on Elena for few more seconds before nodding courtly, and both of them go in the other direction, towards what Elena assumed are their seats.

"Cousin," one of the men by his side calls for him, "Who is that girl, with Miss Forbes?" he asks curiously, which is when Stefan notices his cousin glaring in Elena's direction.

"A friend," he answers shortly, not appreciating the look he's giving Elena, full of lust and attraction and admiration.

He's very well aware that Elena is an attractive woman, even though he has a hard time making her see herself in that light. But the thought of someone else wanting her did not even cross his mind, which is quite foolish of him. He was too busy with trying to think of a way to stay away from all the princesses who are after his crown.

"I do not think I've ever seen her before," he shifts his attention to Stefan, whose face is hard and serious. Almost disapproving.

"My brother likes to take stray dogs in," Damon answers for him, once he sees the look on his brothers face.

"So she's not royalty?" the other cousin asks wearily.

"No," Damon answers even before Stefan gets a chance to open his mouth.

"Still, she's remarkable," the first one says, his attention shifting between Elena smiling to something Caroline said and Stefan's stone cold face.

_That she is._

"My brother seems to think so as well," Damon says with an amused smile on his face.

Stefan gives him an eye.

"You do not see such bosom on many women," the cousin comments with a smirk on his face, highly resembling Damon's. Stefan wonders is he the only one in the family who doesn't own such a vicious smirk.

_I know._ "I haven't noticed," Stefan answers, his face flushed.

His cousins laugh roars through the room. "That's your problem, cousin," he pats Stefan on the back few times with his open palm, "You do not know where to look. That is why you're so bad at hunting."

The men laugh, and Stefan wills himself to laugh alongside them.

"Now tell me," the cousin seems to be switching their conversation to another topic, "How come you're not married yet? I've heard the Council is on your back because of it," he takes a sip of wine before asking another question, "What's stopping you to just get it over with?"

Stefan's brain works hard to think of an excuse, but before he manages to find a valid one, Damon speak again.

"I'm afraid the reason is sitting over there," Damon looks in Elena's direction, and both cousins follow where Damon's look is headed to.

One of them gasps silently, but the other wears an amused look on his face. Stefan curses Damon for his stupidity, privately, inside of his head.

"So why don't you just marry her?" the cousin who is amused by the discovery asks.

Stefan wasn't expecting this kind of a reaction, so he gives his cousin a look full of surprise.

"That's absurd!" Damon exclaims.

He shrugs. "There's no law against it. It's just that no one does it, because why would they? At least no one did it for centuries. There are few kings who married common girls."

This tickles Stefan's imagination, but when he sees his brothers red, blown face, he says, "Gentlemen," his tone is full of warning, "I do not think this is time nor place to be discussing such things."

Damon calms down a little, and cousins open other topics, but the words of his cousin do not leave Stefan's mind for a very long time.

He greets more people, chats with them, especially with royal girls who seem to be feeling very flirtatious tonight, but every now and then his look flies to Elena. Sometimes their eyes meet, but she breaks the contact immediately. But sometimes all he gets to see is her face from the profile, and that all consuming smile on her face. Smile which makes you smile when smiling is the last thing on your mind.

When night comes to an end, people start coming to him to say their goodbyes. Among those people are Elena and Caroline, even though there are among the last guests in the room.

Caroline bows once again, this time to say goodbye, sharing a knowing smile with her friend.

When Elena does the same, he asks her to come to him. She looks over at Caroline who indicates with her eyes that it's okay to go. More so, she must.

So Elena picks her dress in between her fingertips to raise it from the ground and climbs three small steps to reach him.

"I cannot wait to see you out of that dress."

There's a playful smile on her lips. She allows it since she's sure no one can see her face from where she's standing. "I was under impression you like this dress on me," she holds his gaze with her own.

"I love it," he says instantly, and the next words he says through a whisper, "But I think I would love it more if it were on the floor of my bedroom, and you naked between my sheets."

She gasps a little, but composes herself pretty quickly.

"Your Grace," she bows once again, showing him it's time for her to leave, but this time she doesn't lower her look, she keeps it glued to his.

* * *

As soon as he enters his chambers, he falls on the couch tiredly. There's a glass of wine enveloped by his fingers, and he's sipping it slowly, as if it will help him relax. It does wonders for Damon, but he drinks it in absurd amounts.

He doesn't feel tired physically as he does mentally. There were a lot of things to discuss today, from wars to peace, from his need to marry to it being absolutely unnecessary because he's young. The conversation with his cousins tired him in great lengths, especially the way one of them kept looking at Elena. That looks unsettles him, haunts him, as well as his words. _So why don't you just marry her then?_

Can he?

How would the Council react? How would Damon react? How would people in the kingdom react?

Most importantly, how would Elena react if he ever proposed the idea to her? He knows she wants to be with him as much as he wants to be with her, but there are other things to consider. By marrying him, she would become a queen, and he's not sure that's a kind of live she wants to lead.

He rubs his temple with his fingertips when he hears a knock on the door.

The castle is full of people. Only few decided to travel by night, but more of them feel comfortable doing it by day, so they will leave after breakfast. His cousins will probably stay a little while longer.

He's not expecting anyone, and he hopes it's none of the guests. The only person whose questioning he would endure is Caroline's, and she knows better than to bother him right away.

He jumps to his feet and hurries towards the door.

"Elena!" he says her name with such ferocity, but as silently as he can. He grabs her by her wrist with his free hand, the one that's not holding wine, and pulls her inside of his room. "How did you get here?" he knows there are guards in the corridor in front of his room almost all the time. She would have to get pretty lucky to avoid them.

"Miss Forbes helped me," she answers, feeling dizzy from all the rush she's been experiencing in this short time.

"Caroline?" he wills his brows to come together, "You told her?" he asks suspiciously, knowing Elena is not the type.

"No!" Elena shrieks, and Stefan mimics her with his hands to keep quiet, "I think she has a sixth sense when it comes to these things," she says silently.

Stefan nods in understanding. He was thinking the same about his friend too. There's not a part of his private life she hasn't figured out.

He lowers the glass on the table. "I thought we agreed we're not seeing each other tonight?" he says that sentence in the form of a question.

"I know," she lowers her look like a child who has just been chastised, "But I still have to give you your birthday gift," she raises her look to him, a sinful smile present on her lips.

He instantly feels sorry for acting so indifferently towards her.

"Oh, Elena," he says her name softly, "You didn't have to.." he says shyly, even though he's curious about the origin of her gift.

"It's okay," she makes a step forward, "It's for both of us to enjoy," her smile deepens.

He watches as one of her hands travels up her body, to her waist, which is the first time he notices a light, silky crimson robe with white flowers embodied into it, wrapping tightly around her body. It's a long robe, covering her body from her ankles to her neck, but it's so thin she must be freezing in it. Her fingers envelop around a thin lane above her hips, which is most likely keeping the robe on her body. She pulls the lane and slowly the robe slips down her body onto the ground.

He gasps, as if he had never seen her naked. He thinks he could witness it million of times, but he would never take her beauty for granted. It will surprise him every time, even when her body changes over the years.

"Happy birthday, my lord," she whispers.

All words are lost to him. He's aware that there are innumerable appropriate things he could say, some of them even invade his mind and form into sentences, but they never find their way through his lips. He just stands there, his eyes roaming over her body, her beautiful figure bathed in exchange of light and shadow, and he prays she doesn't get his silence in a wrong way.

She doesn't. A playful smile dances on her lips like she rehearsed it, and she moves towards him. The only thing on her body that moves while she walks is her long, wavy hair, sprawled across her bare back.

She stops in front of him and unclasps his belt to which his sword is attached. She lets it fall on the floor. He wants to warn her to be quiet, but he can't form that thought into words.

He swallows hard when she starts unbuttoning his shirt, and this time her fingers are not wet and clumsy or trembling, and she manages to unclasp every single button on his shirt.

She yanks his shirt down his arms and tugs it out of his pants, making it fall on the floor behind him. Her hands find his and their fingers intertwine.

"Don't you like your gift?" she asks in all seriousness, looking at him through her eyelashes.

She lets go of his hands and her fingers start moving over the hardness of his arms. Fingertips turn into palms which squeeze his muscles, making them little less tense.

Her lips fall on his chest, and she starts planting _little gentle soft_ butterfly kisses all over his torso. Her fingertips soon join her, and every time she moves her lips from a spot, her fingertips press into it, making her kisses sink deep into his skin. He feels like they're being branded into him, and thinks how soon he will be able to smell smoke and see his skin burn if he looks down his torso.

She _owns_ him.

She comes _closer so close too close_ to him that he can feel her breasts pressing onto his chest. He's standing too close to fire, it's making his skin melt.

"Of course I do," he answers truthfully.

She leads him to bed and gently pushes him on it. She climbs on top of him, straddling him.

"I wish there's something I could do with my hear," she says annoyed once her hair falls from behind her back, over her shoulders to the front, covering her breasts.

"I love your hair," he says casually because it's the truth, "I love how long it is, how soft it is. I love how it matches the color of your eyes but rebels from the color of your skin. I love how it feels when I pull my fingers through it. I love seeing it sprawled across your back, like it's protecting you."

He moves into a sitting position, taking in the mocha color of the skin of her shoulder blades before he moves his head closer and places his chin on one of them. He gathers her hair and moves it aside, his other hand traveling down her back to her bottom.

"Do you think human spine is fragile?" he asks, and she's not sure he expects an answer to that question, "I think it is," he answers it by himself, "Because it's beautiful, and most beautiful things usually are fragile, but strong in their own way. Life. Love. Air. Moments that keep slipping from your fingers and memories which are slaves to time. You," he can hear her smile. He can always hear her smile. Her smile is like a never ending painting in his mind. As long and as wide as imagination itself. He moves his finger up, placing it on her spine and she catches her breath. "By the way you react to it, sometimes I think your spine is a living, breathing thing inside of your body."

"And how do I react to your touch on my spine?" she asks curiously, because the only thing she can feel is a mind numbing pleasure.

"Your breathing is slow. You hold your breath like you're too selfish to let it go. And when you do, you suck it back in instantly. It makes your abdomen retract, which leaves a gap between our bodies. Your heart starts racing, thumping against mine, making it beat to the same rhythm. One second your body is completely relaxed, the other it's rigid. I've never known it's humanly possible for a body to react in a such way, with such speed. It's like you're switching temperatures really fast, from hot to cold in a matter of seconds. You start sweating. Your skin sticks to mine. Sometimes I think you will sink into me. Sometimes I want you to. Then, you start shivering. There are goosebumps on your skin and they're provoking my fingertips. Sometimes they're sharp like needles, and sometimes as soft as silk. Your spine reacts friendly to me, I think it knows me."

All he hears is a loud intake of air. "Oh?" is all she manages to say.

"Yes. Pay attention," he moves his finger up her spine and presses onto it, "This is when we met," he moves his finger upwards and presses onto her spine there, "This is when I fell in love with you," his finger moves to another spot which gets pressed, "This is when you fell in love with me, sooner than you would like to admit."

He keeps moving his finger up her spine and pressing the spots on which his finger stops, all followed by words. "This is when I read to you. This is when we kissed. This is when we went into the snow. This is when we made love," and soon enough, those declarations shift to the future, "This is for all the times you will fall asleep by my side. This is for every morning you will wake up next to me. This is when we get married. This is for every time we will make love. This is for all of our children."

By the time he reaches the ending of her spine, she's pulling herself closer and closer to him, her body shivering, the goosebumps on her skin poking his.

Her legs are wrapped around his waist, and she threw her arms around him. She's holding onto him and she never wants to let go.

When he stops, she pulls herself away from him.

There's an emotion in her eyes and its name is lust.

Her lips fall on his, fiercely, making the skin of their lips crack.

The kiss is nerve wrecking. There's a storm inside of their heads.

She's trying to unbutton his pants. He's squeezing her flesh all over her body.

Once she manages to unbutton his pants he lays her on the bed and starts kissing her thigh.

She moans so softly, almost innocently.

Her skin is the softest there.

His pants come off and she finds her way on top of him once again.

When she feels him inside of her, she gasps.

If it weren't for love, it would be dirty.

Love is the only thing that can fit between them at the moment, anyway.

Their love is music. Or it creates music.

It's a soft touch of fingertips on the keypads of a piano.

Sometimes it's like that, soft, slow, comforting, barely audible, and there are times when it's rough, like when you press keypads so hard you think they're going to crack open. Either them, or you.

It's loud, it's noisy, it makes others turn around. Everyone can feast their eyes on it.

His hands move up her body, towards her breasts, and she smiles when she feels every inch of him on her as she moves herself on top of him.

Seconds turn into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into years. His room holds an eternity. Forever is dripping from their fingertips.

They can feel it on the tip of their tongues.

They swallow it.

It's a vow.


	15. Chapter 15

"Miss Forbes got me acquainted with proper behavior during Court events," she says while lying on top of him, her chin pressed onto his chest, "Do you think I did well?" she starts drawing circles on his torso with her fingertip.

He smiles. "You were brilliant," he's caressing her back with all five fingers of his left hand, while his right arm is under his head, propping him up.

His silky covers feel so soothing on her bare skin. "I went unnoticed," she smiles self satisfyingly.

"Beautiful face like yours could never go unnoticed," he comments, "People noticed you, some more than the others," he says bitterly.

She raises her look from his torso and looks at him through her thick eyelashes curiously.

"My cousin was.." he stops to think of a word, his brows knitting together, "Very enchanted with you."

A smile wavers on her lips. "Do I sense jealousy in your voice, my lord?"

"Is there a reason for me to be jealous?" he asks. Her first thought is that he's joking, but after she notices the serious note in his voice she pushes herself off of him.

"Do you think I'm a whore?" she spits out, clearly offended by his question, "Do you think I'm here until a more appropriate situation comes along?" there's hardness on her face, one he has never seen before.

His eyes widen at her words. _No, no, that's not what he meant at all._

"No!" he elevates his voice, "Of course not," he moves his look from her, ashamed, "My cousin can be very charming, though."

She slips off of him and sits on the bed next to him, pulling the covers over her body, shielding herself from him. "I am not your toy to play with," she states hoarsely, "If I ever find myself in another man's bed, it won't be by my choice," she tugs the covers closer to herself.

"You do not know how convincing these people can be," his voice is cold, and his words are harsh. They're like a hammer on her skin, and they leave wounds.

She looks at him over her shoulder, tears in her eyes. "Why do you keep insulting me?"

The resolve in his eyes breaks when he notices tears covering her rosy cheeks. He wonders why he even speaks of such things when he very well knows she's the one who knows to say the right thing at the right moment, not him.

"I am not trying to insult you," he reaches for her but she flinches when his fingers come close to her body so he thinks better of it, "I'm just saying you deserve more."

She doesn't speak for quite some time, gathering her strength is what he thinks. "There's more than this?"

"With me, you're always on the shaky ground, in the dark, your position unknown. I want to change that, but there are so many people whose opinions I have to influence and sometimes I think I can't go into that battle alone. And when I think I can, my resolve shatters because I know that battle might last for days, but it also might last for years. I do not want you to be my mistress, and I do not want our children to be illegitimate, and at the same time I can't stay away from you. This is a dangerous game we're playing, and the worst thing is that both of us know that the only person who will get hurt is you, if it ever comes down to it. You maybe want me, but I'm not sure you want everything that comes with me. Maybe being a duchess would serve you better than being a queen, because that title is what comes with marrying me. With me, you're everything."

"And without you, I'm nothing," her look is dangerous, full of anger and fear and fire, "How can you even say such things? Do you really think the title is all I want, or that I might settle for less because I can't carry the weight of it? I do not care about being a duchess or a queen. What I care about is you, and if being a queen is a price I have to pay for being with you, then be it. I would stand by you through anything. If this castle were twice its size or a gutter, I would be by your side. If you were anything less than a king, if you were a common man or less, I would be your equal. For you, I would endure everything the world throws at us, weather it's gold or dirt. I've been hurt before," this time, the look in her eyes is distant, but also determined, "And I would go through worse things for you. For you, I would walk on thorns and through fire, I would walk over pointy rocks with my bare feet. Weather you win or lose this battle, I'll be there, but before it comes to it, I'll make sure I fight by your side, even if you leave me without a weapon. I would use my nails and fingers to crawl to you through the pile of mistakes and accusations," her fingers grip around her covers, "I am more than your queen or a wife, I am more than a title. I am the woman who is in love with you and loved by you and if that's the only way I'm remembered, then that's more than enough."

"I want you to be great, though. I want us to be great. I want everyone to fall in love with you the way I did, and I want to see people bow before you when you enter the room, I want to hear people speak only when you give them permission to. I can give you more than love, even though love is the most valuable thing in my possession. I can give you power, I want you to have it because I know you will use it wisely. Something brought you to me, my love," he sits straight, close to her, his chest pressing onto her back, their faces close as she turns her head over her shoulder to keep her eyes on his, "Something bigger than both of us, something bigger than life itself. It brought you to me because you're the piece of me I lost sometime long ago before I was born. It brought you to me to love, and it brought you here to rule," he kisses her shoulder.

"So love is not enough?" she asks, disappointment obvious in her voice.

He shakes his head. "Love is more than I could ever ask for. You will always be more than my queen or wife or partner or the mother of my children - you will be my home. Everything else is a luxury that makes life more beautiful. I love you so much that I want to give you the love of every single person out of these walls. And they will love you, oh how will they love you, because how could someone not?"

She nods, thinking how she finally understands the meaning behind his intentions, and the true meaning of his words. Love does not come alone, and it does not come cheap. It carries many things on its wings, left one full of sorrow, right one filled with stars. "If it's meant to be, it will happen."

* * *

"There hasn't been a war in over 15 years," Stefan says silently, his fingers pressing onto his temple.

"We know, my lord," one of the councilmen says with a soothing voice.

As he was on his way to lunch, one of the guards stopped him in the middle of a corridor, telling him the Council wants to see him immediately. With a heavy heart, he went with him. He could hear voices overlapping each other even before he entered the room. When he went in they did not settle down. They kept bickering, yelling at each other as if they were children.

It took them some time to realize he's in the room, so they settled down and each took their place at the table. When he asked what's the commotion about, they all started to talk at the same time, which is when he requested only one to speak for all of them.

France is announcing a war to them.

Stefan remembers when he was a child, his father went to war. He went to war against France, and he came back. He came back with stories which soon became old and told too many times until they vanished completely. He won, and the old king of France was dead, his son stepping into his place. His son who was only a boy then, not much older than Stefan is now, who made peace with his father. There hasn't been a war since then.

And now that same boy, who is a man now, is announcing war to them. For power. For land. For revenge.

There's no such thing as forgiveness and peace, not when your fathers life, or lack of, is in question.

"What do you propose we do?" he asks, his look lowered, his fingers still on his temple.

Silence fills the room. One time he wants words, they give him silence. He raises his look and meets their eyes. Their blank stares.

"Fight, my lord?" one of the members says in the form of a question, like he's asking if his proposal is the correct one.

"Fight," the word stumbles down his tongue, "Right."

He has never been in a war. Damon and him used to fight with wooden swords when they were children, until they grew old enough to be handed real swords and start practicing how to use them.

A sword lies in Damon's hand much better than it does in his. By all means Damon should be the king, if only he weren't so lazy and uninterested in life.

"There is no other option," Alaric says, and for the first time in months his voice is not smug, it's serious and distant.

"Then we fight."

* * *

"Every king has to endure at least one war," Damon says nonchalantly, a glass of wine in his hand, like usually.

"I know," Stefan nods his head slowly, his brows furrowing. He pulls his finger over the swords blade, gently, carefully. He can feel a tingly sensation spreading from his fingertips through his entire body.

His nerves are breaking.

He remembers the first time his father handed him a sword. _"For someone who's in line for a throne a sword should be like a third hand to you."_

"You know," Damon sips his wine, "There is a way to avoid all this."

He seems so relaxed, like he doesn't have a care in the world, like this war is not affecting him at all. Stefan wonders how can he manage to stay so calm in a situation like this.

"Do tell."

"Marriage."

"Marriage?"

Damon puts his glass on the table in front of him and smirks at his brother. "King of France has a daughter. I'm sure he would like to make a Queen out of his Princess."

Stefan huffs. "There are better ways to ask someone to marry your daughter than announcing a war. He doesn't want my throne for her, he wants it for himself, or his son."

"I'm actually serious," Damon's forehead creases, "Maybe the thought never occurred to him."

Stefan eyes his brother before exhaling a cloud of air. "Damon, I'm not marrying the Princess of France."

"Why not?" Damon's look hardens, but when realization hits him, it softens. "Is this because of her?" he spits out, lines around his eyes tensing.

"She has a name."

"_Elena,_" Damon says bitterly, "Why is she so important to you?" he asks a question to which Stefan has a million answers to, but not one Damon would ever understand. "All you have is a child play, it's not like - "

Damon gasps, his breath catching in his throat. "You slept with her, didn't you?"

Stefan doesn't say a word, but when his eyes accidentally meet Damon's, he says more than he ever could if he spoke.

Both of them stay silent for a moment, Stefan having nothing to say, and Damon digesting this new information.

"I would congratulate you brother, but," his expression is serious with hints of disbelief, "How could have you been to stupid?"

Stefan steps up from his chair abruptly, standing above his brother like a giant, his face full of anger. "She could be carrying my hair as we speak!" he raises his voice.

But Damon outshouts him. "The only thing she could be carrying is your bastard!"

Stefan strikes the wooden table before him with his fists. The table jumps a little, swords on top of it rattling. "Be careful with your words, brother," he warns him.

Something in Damon's eyes shifts. Stefan never acted this way towards him. He studies his brother with half open eyes and disbelief before saying, "This is going to tear us apart," he stands up so his eyes level the eyes of his brother. "This is going to tear this country apart. A woman."

Stefan's face becomes tense, the lines on it serious, unnerving. "You're my family, I would never let anything stand between us. Not her, not anyone else," he releases his fists, his palms pressing onto the table. His look drops down.

"Prove it," Damon challenges him.

Stefan's face hardens once again, his brows knitting close together, "How?" he asks with a hoarse voice.

"Elena," Damon says her name without any affection, "Give her to me."

Stefan gasps a little.

Damon expects him to blow up. He expects his brothers face to go red with furry and his fists to find a way towards his face. He expects him to threaten him with a sword pressed next to his neck.

Stefan expects the same from himself. He wants to peel the skin off of his brothers body for asking such a thing. For even thinking it.

For giving him an ultimatum.

But he can't will himself to move.

His whole face drops and when he speaks, his voice cracks. "She is not mine to give," he says ultimately, "If you can win her love over, then she's yours, and there's nothing I can do about it, but she is not my property, and she is not something I can hand over to someone else. She's a living, breathing person, Damon, not a toy," he repeats the words she said to him few days before. "She is beautiful and intelligent, oh, so much more intelligent than you could ever dream, and she's been through so much. Things from your nightmares, brother, she lived them, and she's still here, because she's strong. And she's ready to be stronger, for me, for us," his eyes meet Damon's, and his look is full of passion. He is proud of his words. He is proud of the woman he's in love with. "I can give you a title, or gold, I can give you a lot of things brother, but I can't give you her, not if she doesn't want to go."

Damon glares at his brother for few minutes, speechless, before a smirk appears on his lips. "I do not want her anyway, I was only testing you," his smirk drops, "I wouldn't know what to do with her anyway," he admits.

Stefan grins. "Oh?"

"I like women who act like kittens, and your Elena.." Damon inhales deeply, "She's a wolf."

Stefan slumps back into his chair. "Have you ever been in love, brother?"

Damon follows his lead. "No."

"It's marvelous."

Damon reaches for his glass and sips some more wine. "It seems problematic."

"Oh, it is," Stefan chuckles, "Sometimes that's the beauty of it."

"Brother?" Damon's voice weavers.

"Yes?"

"Are we really going to war?"

Stefan holds his breath. "Yes."


	16. Chapter 16

"Do you have to leave?" Elena cries out, clinging to his armor, too desperate to let him go.

"I have to," he pulls his fingers through her hair. Her head is on his chest, her tears falling over the cold metal of his armor. "I'm the King, I have to lead my army."

"But you have never been to battle before!" she protests, her voice barely recognizable behind all those tears.

"That doesn't mean I don't know how to fight," he tries to soothe her, but he feels quite nervous himself. It's true, he has no experience on the battlefield, but it is his duty to fight alongside his men. "There's a first time for everything. Before you came along I was never in love either," she raises her head from his armor and looks at him through her eyelashes, "And I would like to believe I'm doing a decent job in that department," he smiles, making her smile as well.

"You're doing a wonderful job," she wraps her arms around him, pulling his body closer to his, but the only thing she feels is hard and cold metal against her quivering flesh, "I just wish you didn't have to leave," she exhales disappointingly.

"I know," he kisses her temple, softly, gently, "When I get back, I'm going to marry you."

He can feel her body stiffen next to his. She shoots him a look which is a mix of surprise and confusion and fear.

"I do not care about what anyone says," he shakes his head determined, swallowing hard, "I love you and I want to be with you, and if someone can't accept that, to hell with them," he reaches for her hands and squeezes them in his, "So when this whole thing is over, I'm going to make you my wife. If you want me, that is," he flashes her a shy smile.

She does not reply to him. Well, at least not with words. Instead she steps on her toes and keeps rising herself up until her lips meet his and she gives him a loving, gentle kiss, her thumb brushing over his cheek. "You know I want you, always," she whispers against his lips.

He let's go of her, reaching for his sword and putting it in the intended place by his hip. "If something happens to me," he wills his brows to come together, "My brother will take care of you. If something happens to him as well, Caroline will take that role."

She decides to skip the whole talk about something possibly happening to him because she doesn't even want to consider it. Instead she says wearily, "Your brother? So you've told him?" her voice drops.

"Well, he guessed," he locks his eyes on hers, "Even if he didn't, I would have told him in a time like this. He promised he will keep you safe."

"The woman he thinks is unsuitable for his brother? Why would he?" she asks bitterly.

Stefan's look hardens and she regrets her words. "Look, I know my brother can be difficult, but he is my family. His word means a lot to me. He gave me a promise, he will keep it."

His words sink into her skin, and after few seconds of hesitation she nods. "None of that matters, though," she intertwines her fingers with his, "Because you will come home to me."

* * *

First few minutes after he left were the hardest. They seemed to last forever. They were spinning around her, pulling her into a dangerous vortex of time. She watched him go from the window of her room, clutching her dress with her fingers, making wrinkles on it. She watched until she couldn't see him anymore, until he disappeared behind houses and buildings and, finally, in the woods. Then she found comfort in her bed, muffling her cries with a pillow.

The day felt empty. So did the next one, and the one after that.

Caroline tried to entertain her, so did Katherine and Rebekah, and sometimes they would succeed. They would take her mind off of him for few hours, and she was grateful for that, but she also felt guilty because her thoughts were not with him the whole time.

After few weeks the first letter came.

After she opened the envelope she brought the paper close to her nose, trying to capture his smell, and she pulled her fingers over the black letters, trying to feel his skin because for now that letter was the closest thing she had to a home.

She wanted to crawl into that envelop and live there until he comes back.

She read it at least hundred times before the second letter came, fairly similar to the first one.

Her days became a session of waiting for his letters to arrive. If not today, then tomorrow, and if not tomorrow than the day after tomorrow and so on until she lost the track of days or until the letter finally came to her.

Seasons changed and days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and almost a year had passed when a distant voice shook her from her daydreaming. She was sitting in her bedroom, on the edge of her bed, thinking about everything and nothing and all that's in between.

"The King is home!" she thought the voice is inside of her head, but then she heard it again, "The King is home!"

There are footsteps in the corridor in front of her room. _The King is home._

The voice came closer until she heard it running in front of her room. She hurried to her window and that is when she saw them. Line of horses, men on horses, men walking, all coming home, a flag high in the air.

So she ran. She ran like she never ran before. Tiles were pointy under her feet, like rocks. They were hard and cold and she felt like her feet are bare, like her skin is cracking open, like her toes are bending more than is humanly possible. Her dress was in between her fingertips, high from the ground, and her arms had hurt her while staying in that position for a while. She felt wind on her face and it was bruising her, her hair was falling into her eyes but _she didn't stop she never stopped she couldn't stop she wouldn't stop._

She ran through rooms and corridors until she was finally outside, in the yard, where she finally saw him. Her eyes fell on him. His hair was longer, greasy, darker behind the dirt. His skin was worn, and he was tired, she could see it by the way he came from his horse.

There were few people outside, more coming, more gathering to meet their King and his army home but he didn't need any of those people. His eyes were searching for her. His body was hungry for her and his fingertips were desperate for her skin and since they started moving home he knew he won't stop touching her until the skin on his fingers burns until there's nothing left.

When his look finally fell on her his lips went up into a smile, such a wide, beautiful, welcoming smile and she realized that no matter how tired he is his eyes could never lose that light inside of them.

So she ran to him. She ran through dirt and people and she didn't care about either. She didn't care about curious eyes or quivering lips or whispers. She threw her arms around his neck and he wrapped his around her waist, keeping her close to him.

Her face was buried in his neck and he could feel a trail of tears on it coming from her eyes.

He held her in his arms, her feet high from the ground, and he started twirling her. He twirled her and twirled her until both of them were dizzy and until the world around them disappeared.

_Home._ It's more than walls. It's more than a feeling or a word or a whisper in the dark for consolation.

It's a person.

* * *

There was so much food, much more than they needed, and so much wine, much more than it's healthy for all those men who only needed sleep. There was music and chatter and everyone were telling stories.

It wasn't an event or a social gathering, they were in the dining room, and it was a private celebration until late in the night.

She was in his lap and no one cared, she felt wine on his lips but he was drunk on her kisses.

"So they ran?" Rebekah asked smugly.

"They ran," Damon was the one who answered her question.

"The King was never there," Stefan forced himself to detach his lips from Elena's to engage in conversation, "Before we realized it some of the men ran to gather him and they fled to France."

"Or so you think," Damon spits out and his voice surges through Elena like electricity. She shifts uncomfortably in Stefan's lap, knowing that with his hold on her there's nowhere to go.

"So we win?" Caroline asks confused.

Stefan frowns. "Not exactly."

"They retreated, they never surrendered," Damon explains, "We could find no sign of them, and we searched thoroughly. We left some men behind to keep an eye on things and write to us if they notice anything unusual. But if they did go back to France, I'm sure we will be hearing from them soon."

"We will decide what to do from then," Stefan concludes.

But Damon has other thoughts. "Or we can attack them.." he proposes.

Elena tenses. "Attack?" her voice quivers, "But you just got back home."

Stefan exchanges a look with his brother. "They want something, sweetheart, do not think they will stop at this," Damon says as politely as he can.

"So you're going to do it?" Caroline asks in disbelief, "You're going to attack France?"

"Yes."

"No."

Damon looks at his brother rapidly, and Stefan gives him a look of warning. "I never said we will do it, brother," Stefan's look hardens, "I said I will consider it."

"They're at their weakest now. Half of their army is gone!" Damon's voice is angry.

"So are we!" Stefan exclaims, "We lost many of our own."

Elena cringes when she realizes one of those men left behind could have been Stefan.

"You're afraid," Damon says bitterly.

"I'm not afraid," Stefan defends himself, "I'm being rational."

Damon glares at him, speechless. "Right," he nods, even though he is not happy with his brothers decision, "Then we wait to hear from them."

Stefan nods, happy Damon accepted his word for once.

He stands up and Elena falls from his lap. "Now excuse me," he greets everyone, "It's been a long day."

"It's been a long year," Damon adds absentmindedly.

Elena has to agree. It was a long and hard year for everyone.

Stefan's fingers intertwine with Elena's and he pulls her after him.

He takes her to his room.

It would be too much to say there wasn't any love in it, but it was different then before.

The way he kissed her, touched her.

Loved her.

It wasn't uncomfortable or unsatisfying, but it was more raw.

He took her clothes off in a heartbeat. He took his own even faster.

"I've missed you so much," he whispers into her skin.

Maybe that's it. Maybe he just missed her.

No, he most certainly missed her. She knows, because she had missed him just as much.

He is more rough, but she doesn't mind. He's not hurting her, or scaring her, she feels as much pleasure as she did before, but things are happening faster than they used to.

"I'm sorry," he says in middle of planting kisses on her stomach. His head drops on her body and she finds herself confused.

"Sorry for what?" she tries to make him lift his head.

So he does. "For this. The way I'm treating you.." he shakes his head, "It must feel unpleasant."

She's used to him paying attention to every inch of her body. To planting kisses all over her skin.

It's been a year, though. They haven't seen each other for a year, they haven't felt each other for so many months after drowning in each other almost every day.

She understands. She knows it will be different next time. She knows it will be as same as it was before he went away.

"No," she tries to convince him, but his words are faster than hers.

"I just need you," he tries to excuse himself.

"Stefan," she makes him look her in the eyes, "What makes you think I don't need you as well?" she smiles at him gently, her body burning for his touch. "You're not hurting me, it's the opposite. No matter how fast your kisses are, they're a shock to my body and they make my skin tremble with pleasure. No matter how deep your fingers go into my flesh I can still feel the tenderness in your touch."

Her head falls back on the bed and her back arches a little, towards his lips, longing for his sloppy kisses.

He smiles as his fingers go deeper into her hips and a moan escapes her. He pulls her closer to him, her whole body sliding down the bed, and his lips go back to her body.

And they stay there for the whole night.

Moans and panting and hushed screams fill the room.

So does the heath.

By the morning his fingertips are engraved on her skin and there are scratch marks on his back, and he didn't get those from the battle.

When sun starts setting up he kisses her lips one last time before both of them fall asleep, tired, but never of love.

* * *

_**AN: Just a quick filler chapter :)**_

_**BTW, I will be writing a new story, and uploading it soon, if you're interested in reading it as well :) I'll let you know when the first chapter is up.**_


	17. Chapter 17

When, few days after they return home, Stefan walks into the next Council meeting, he notices his brother there, leaning against a wall, near a window, at the far end of the room. It's unusual for Damon to participate in these meeting, since he's neither the King or the member of Council. His appearance was required there while they were discussing war strategies, more because of Stefan's sanity than Damon's ability to help.

His brothers face is unreadable, shadows are hiding his features, but Stefan manages to notice worry in his eyes.

The face of every Councilman in the room is sour. Stefan knows the news are bad, but there's just one question twirling inside of his mind - _how bad?_

He assumes his position by the table and few seconds pass before someone speaks. When the man next to him begins, Stefan feels like a huge weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. Until then he didn't even realize how nervous he actually feels.

Damon never moves away from the window. Stefan can notice that his back are tense.

"We've heard from the King of France," the Councilman next to him says, and Stefan motions for him to continue. "They're not surrendering."

Surprise flashes in Stefan's eyes and it takes him some time to nice he's the only one who's surprised. He's probably the only one who doesn't know what's going on. He can sense a _but_ coming.

"But.." the Councilman prolongs, and Stefan wants to smirk satisfyingly, but thinks better of it. This is no time nor place to be playing games. "He gave us a proposition. A peace proposition."

Stefan nods. That makes sense. King of France is a proud man, he would never throw a white flag and admit defeat. So if he can't win on the battlefield, he will find some other way to satisfy his needs.

Stefan notices all of the members glancing nervously in his directions which chills him to the bone. The man next to him inhales deeply before laying the news on him, "He wants to make peace with you, and he wants to seal the deal by you marrying his daughter."

Stefan freezes in place. He looks at his brothers back which are still tense, but he doesn't turn around, even though he can feel Stefan's eyes on his back.

Stefan wants to laugh at this situation when he remembers the conversation he had with his brother only few days before they left to war. _Marriage._ Damon probably unintentionally cursed him.

He scans faces of all the men in the room, when one of them dares to speak, despite Stefan's meaningful silence. "We advise you to do it, my Lord," he clears his throat, obviously nervous to speak. It's one thing to push him to marry someone, but it's completely different to push him to marry a certain person in the name of peace. "Princess of France is young, which means she's fertile. She's also very beautiful."

Stefan has to agree. He had seen her two years ago, and she is extremely beautiful. He wishes that was enough.

"Also, your marriage would cement peace between our countries for a very long time. As long as her father is in the throne, we're safe. His son as well, probably."

Stefan doesn't say a word, though his mind is racing. He doesn't think his brain ever worked so fast and hard before. So many Kings before him married in the name of peace, women they didn't know and women they didn't love and he's sure some of them never came to love their wives. It was their duty, to marry, to make an heir, to maintain peace, to care for their people.

He's responsible for numerous of lives out there. These people depend on him, and he can't say for sure that someone else would rule righteously over them.

He's a King, which means they come before him.

But they came before him all of his life._ You're in line for the throne, Stefan, stop playing, take this sword and fight me like a man._ But he was seven. _You're second in line for the throne after your brother, so do not move from here until you know how to sing our law even if I wake you up in the middle of the night._ _He barely knew how to read. We cannot count on your brother, Stefan, so stop running around like an animal, we can't afford you getting sick._

So he did all of those things, he did as he was told, because that was the right thing to do. He learned how to fight and read and he barely played with other children. He never did it for him. He did it for them.

When does he get to do something for himself? Can he afford to be selfish?

Can he be selfish when it comes to this?

"No," he says firmly.

The answer is yes. Even if he can't, he's going to be.

Few members gasp. Alaric flinches beside him. Damon doesn't make a sound, nor does he move from his spot.

"They lost half of their army, they have no chance of winning. We only need few days for our men to recover," he concludes.

"Further battle is unnecessary," Alaric says calmly, "If you just marry the Princess - "

"I'm not going to marry the Princess of France!" Stefan raises his voice, sounding resolved.

"Why not?" Alaric spits out.

"Because I'm going to marry someone else."

Silence fills the room. He scoots in his chair, feeling his body relax after getting that out of him. He's not going to marry the Princess, he's going to marry Elena. Then he's going to end this thing once and for all, and no one can do anything about it.

"I knew it," Alaric says bitterly.

"My Lord, you can't be - " one of the members starts, outraged.

"I can," Stefan tries to stay calm, "And I will. You're here to advise me, not to control my life."

"Well we advise you against it!" anger washes over Alaric's face.

Stefan licks his lips. "I've heard you before. I decided not to listen to your advice."

"That's enough," Damon turns around abruptly, saying something for the first time since Stefan entered the room. "My brother made his decision," his voice is stiff, his expression serious and hard.

"Surely you can't be happy with this," Alaric voices himself again, this time talking to Damon.

Damon locks his eyes on Stefan's. Stefan knows Damon would be happier with him marrying someone else, someone royal, because he wants his brother to be safe and have it easy. Love is never easy, is what he doesn't understand. There are always some problems, and this problem chose him, and he is more than happy to deal with it. He knows Damon wants what's best for him.

Just like Damon knows his brother values his opinion and that his blessing is important to him.

"I am," he finally says, and Alaric sucks his breath, "If it makes my brother happy, then I am happy with it as well."

* * *

"You can't break the law for me!" she yells at him, tears making an appearance in her eyes.

He turns around on his heel sharply, "I would break continents for you," his voice is calmer and quieter than hers. "For you, I would shatter the ground in tiny pieces until we have nowhere to stand on. I would tear down every building and drain every ocean. I would steal the stars from the sky and make the Earth stop spinning. So don't tell me I can't break the law for you!" the tone of his voice raises.

Her eyes lock on his and it's hard for him to truly see them behind all those tears. A tear falls down her cheek and he exhales loudly, releasing cold air from his lungs.

"You said you will stand by me," he raises his hand in the air and rubs his temple with his fingertips. He feels like his skull is cracking.

"I did," her voice is shaky, but not loud anymore, "And I meant it," she tries to clear any doubt, if he has any, that is. "But this is so much bigger than us."

His hand falls to the side of his body and he looks at her but his expression is unreadable. She shivers a little, until his look falls from her and he slumps onto the couch. "All my life something has been bigger than me," his look is distant and for the first time in a long while she can't tell where his mind is, "Walking a path I never chose. No one ever asked me do I want this. I guess no one ever asks anyone do they want to live the life they do," he shrugs.

He seems at peace now, so she finds it safe to walk over and sit on the couch next to him.

She places herself close to him, so close that their limbs are touching, and she places her hand on top of his, which is resting on his knee. "You're my choice," he says silently, so silently that she doesn't know did she imagine it or did he really say it, "You're the only choice I get to make and for me that's enough," he turns his head to look at her, "And I'm ready to fight for it because you will always be my choice."

There's a spark in his eyes by which she knows he's serious and that his mind is already settled.

"You're in the middle a war, Stefan," her voice is husky, "You're responsible for so many people, you can't afford to be selfish."

_Selfish._ That word opens a new wound inside of him.

He hasn't been selfish a day in his life. So why the hell not now?

"So you're telling me to marry Princess of France?" he asks in disbelief.

Her eyes go wide when she realizes that's the ultimatum. This is not about her. Even if she refuses to marry him he can still decline the marriage proposal and end up in a war.

She wonders, if she told him to marry the Princess, would he?

Part of her wants to, the part of her that's scared.

She can hear the answer buzzing in her mind._ Yes, yes marry her and fulfill your duty and live an easy life._

She never wills herself to say those words out loud.

He huffs and stands up, leaving her all alone on the couch, "It's absurd, how you think I could ever love anyone else after you. Or kiss anyone else, make love to her.." he trails off while shaking his head, "The law," he spits out.

Something flickers in the back of his mind.

His cousins words.

_Why don't you marry her then? There's no law against it._

There's no law against marrying non royalty. It's just that no one ever does it, or at least they don't do it often.

He turns to her and his eyes smile.

"The law doesn't say anything about it," he says like he's surprised himself.

"Excuse me?" she asks confused.

"There's no law which forbids me to marry you."

She looks at him wearily, like he's going insane.

_You're not here to control my life._

The next words he remembers are his own. To the Council.

He smirks.

"Stefan?" she calls for him.

"I can marry you right now if we want to, there's no law which says otherwise," he says cheerfully.

"Are you sure?" she asks. She's not as familiar with the law as he is.

"Positive," a smile on his face is constant and infinitive, "Not even the Council can stop me. But you're right, I'm responsible for a lot of people," he nods.

She looks at him confused, not knowing what's coming next.

"So I'll have to convince them."

* * *

_**AN: How will Stefan convince the people to accept non royalty for their queen? Will he succeed?**_

_**By the way, I started writing a new fan fiction by the title A Hole in the World. If you're interested you can find it on my profile! **_

_**Thank you for all of your lovely reviews, your opinion means a lot to me :)**_


	18. Chapter 18

Love is more than a story, but until you fall in love, actually fall in love, and it doesn't matter if you experience is first, second or the fifth time, love is nothing more than that - a story. Words you read in a book, words you've heard from people close to you. Or from strangers on the street, it really doesn't matter. It's a feeling you can experience as a product of your imagination, but it's not a real deal, it's only a device to lure you in.

When you fall in love, it becomes more than a story you've heard, it becomes a story you're experiencing. It becomes your life. Love, life, there's no one without the other. Or at least one is not worth without the other.

People always tell you all the awful things that come with love, all the sacrifices and fear and loss and pain, and they're right to warn you about those things. Just like it's their duty to warn you about the storm if you're planning to sail. But those awful things can come without love as well. That's the thing about evil, it plants its seed wherever it wants, however is wants, uninvited. Bad things can come by themselves, and if you love, that just means you have one more thing to lose.

But you have million more things to gain.

There are some things that come with love, or they don't come at all. Or they come in a different edition.

Like selflessness. And courage.

Stefan never considered himself a strong person. Yes, he knew how to fight, he knew how to win. Everything except his personal battles. He always cared for his fathers words even though he knew there's no point to it. He cried for his mother, even though by then he was a man and men do not cry. He always did what he was told and thought what he was supposed to think.

He felt like a sheep, but at least people were happy with him, unlike with his brother.

Then Elena came along, and now he's on his way to the town square to convince his people to let him marry her. By every rule, they should be fine with it, because she's one of them, but at the same time he knows it's not that simple. Because they might ask themselves, if Elena can do it, why not their daughter or sister.

On his way down there he's thinking about how he probably wouldn't do this for anyone but her.

She was so scared to see him go. She's so scared of them saying no.

He's scared as well. He's not scared at all.

Guards were given clear instructions to gather everyone on the town square, so when he arrives there the place if full of people. He gets off of his horse and makes his way to the center of the circle.

He watches all of them for a moment, and they watch him, expectantly. They have no idea what all of them are doing there, why he summoned them all.

"You know the Council is forcing me to marry, right?" hundreds and hundreds pairs of eyes stare at him, and it takes some time for few of them to murmur a silent yes. "Then you must have heard the rumors of me refusing to do so," he continues, and now more voices, answer yes loudly.

He jumps from the rock he's been standing on and sits down on it. Few people gasp.

"I do not believe in a loveless marriage," he starts, trying to sound confident, but he's aware of his voice wavering, "Without love, marriage is just a piece of paper forcefully binding you to another person," he sighs, imagining how his marriage to the Princess of France would look like. It's not a pleasant image. "Is there someone here who's trapped in a loveless marriage?"

No one raises a hand, no one makes a sound. He knows there must be people, especially women, who were forced to marry a man their family decided is fit for them. Maybe it was a love on first sight, maybe it took them some time to fall in love, or maybe they never did. Still, no one steps out, probably because they're afraid of saying anything. Afraid of repercussions.

So he decides to believe everyone are happy with the partner they chose for themselves, or the one chosen for them.

"I know all of you have problems. I have problems as well, ours are just of a different kind. You do live better under my reign than you did under my fathers, correct?" he asks because he knows it's true. He gave them back everything his father took from them, and more.

He can see people nodding furiously, fast, and hear a big, collective shouting of yes.

"Even though your life improved, not all of your conditions did, I'm aware of that," his face drops because he feels guilty of not being able to do more for them, even though he's still trying. He will never stop trying. "But whatever problem you might have, I can imagine that when you come home, to your husband or wife, your children, they disappear, at least for a moment," a tiny smile dances on his lips, "I want that as well."

He can see people nodding, not everyone, but a majority of them.

"So, I'm going to tell you a secret," he jumps on his feet and smiles, "I'm in love."

He can see people smiling back at him, especially women.

"And she's.." he exhales loudly, knowing there aren't words good enough to describe Elena, "She's beautiful, in all the ways a woman can be beautiful. She's intelligent, she always knows the right thing to say, she knows how to make everyone feel better. She knows how to make things better. She's always ready to help, even with things she knows nothing about. If there's something she can do, she's ready to learn. She's warm, and kind, and so graceful," he stills his look on the crowd once he realizes his mind wandered off somewhere else, "There's only one problem," his expression turns serious, "She's not royal."

He can see eyes widening and hear gasping.

"I know," he tries to calm them down by continuing his speech, "She's not a Princess or a Duchess. She's not anything. Well," he smiles again, "She is everything to me."

After those words people become silent again.

The only thing he can hear is wind blowing.

"I want to marry her. She would make an amazing Queen, wife.. mother," his smile becomes wider, "I could have married her, there's no law preventing me to do so, but instead, I came to you. To be honest, she's the one who gave me the idea to do so, because, the war, it's not over," people start panicking so he continues right away, "I came to you because your lives are in stake as well. Now, I have two options," he clears his throat, "I can marry the Princess of France and everything goes away, the war ends. Or I can refuse to marry her and go out there and end this. I'm ready to do so, to fight for myself, her, you. The only question is, are you?" his voice becomes silent with that last question, and he waits for them to give him an answer.

But everyone stay silent. No one says a thing.

Then he hears a voice from far back, "Marry the one you love," a silent, young voice, followed by a strict, motherly one, "Be quiet, George!"

Stefan stands on his toes, peering into the crowd. "Who said that? Step out," he demands.

A woman makes a quiet sob before a young boy, no more than 10 years old, steps before Stefan.

"My Lord," he bows politely.

Stefan walks to him and crouches before him so his eyes level the boys. "You think I should marry her? Why?" he asks curiously. Curious why this child had enough courage to say what all these adults didn't.

"Because, my Lord," the boys voice is shaky, "You did so much for us and you deserve to be happy. If you marry someone you don't love, you won't be happy, and that wouldn't benefit either you or us."

Stefan smiles at him. Children always say the wisest things.

"Also, I believe you can win this war, my Lord," he nods, his voice louder this time, "If you had enough courage to come here and put your love in our hands, I do not think swords blade represents a challenge for you," the boy grins.

Stefan raises his look from the boy to the crowd and everyone are nodding in agreement, some even grinning alongside the boy.

He has his answer, so as he stands up and turns around to leave, he grins as well.

"My Lord!" he boy calls after him, "Did my advice help you?"

A woman shrieks again, her voice hoarse, "George!"

Stefan just nods, though. "I owe you."

"Do you think you could help me now as well, then?" he asks, his voice shaky again. He knows he's walking on a thin line.

Stefan walks back to him and smiles. "What can I do for you?"

When he looks into the boys eyes he notices that they're full of tears. "My sister, my Lord," he starts, "She's only five years old, but she's so sick, so very, very sick," he says sadly. "My family has no money to help her. She will die, my Lord, and that would make all of us incredibly sad," a tear falls from the boys eye.

Stefan's lips straighten into a thin line. "We have some of the best physicians on the Court," he says, "If your family allows, I will take here there with me."

* * *

When he approaches the Castle, he can see her sitting in front of the gates, on a big, pointy rock. When her eyes fall on him she stands up and straightens her dress.

There are few guards on their horses few feet away from him, and their faces are unreadable, as always.

So is Stefan's. It chills her bones.

He jumps off of his horse and makes his way to her. He takes her arms in his and she notices how warm they are, even though it's still Winter. There's no more snow, but the wind is cold and abusive to their skin. He caresses her hands with his thumbs, warming them up, because her skin is ice.

"Stefan?" she asks shakily. There are goosebumps in her voice.

He raises his look to hers and her eyes lock with his. His lips fall on hers, there are snowflakes dripping off of them.

"They said yes," he murmurs into her lips, and she swallows those words.

Her eyes go wide with shock. "They said yes?" she asks, as if she doesn't believe him.

His hands travel to her hips, and he puts his arms around her waist. He detaches his lips from hers, bringing them closer to her ear, "Yes," he whispers.

She buries her face in his neck and smiles against his skin.

"Stefan?" she says his name again.

"Yes?"

She wiggles out of his arms when she notices a girl sitting on his horse.

"Who is that?" she asks, her brows knitted together.

"My price for taking an advice from a ten year old."

* * *

_**AN: They said yes!**_


	19. Chapter 19

"You do not have to take care of a sick child," Stefan tells her warmly, following her to the bathroom where she fills the bowl with hot water for the wrap. "Especially not a strangers sick child," he tries to keep his voice as warm and compassionate as he can, but the truth is he's worried for her. She can easily get sick herself.

"I know I do not have to," she checks the water temperature with her finger and rapidly pulls it back when it burns her skin, "I want to," she soaks the rag in the water, careful not to allow water to come in contact with her skin.

He is too stubborn to take that as a satisfying answer, and she knows it, so she's not even a bit surprised when he speaks again. "All I promised them is that we have the best physicians here on the Court, and that they will do everything they can to make her feel better," after few seconds of hesitation he adds, "Not my wife."

She turns around, pressing her palms against a sink, when a light smirk decorates her features. "I'm not your wife yet," she says teasingly, "So you can't order me around just yet," she huffs.

She turns around and he glares at her tiny frame from her back. "I have no intention of ordering you around," he watches her as she lifts her arms and checks the water once again. This time she doesn't pull her finger back with such speed, so he concludes the water cooled down, and his thoughts are confirmed when she sinks both of her hands in the water, takes the rag out and twists it so it's free of water. The drops drip from the rag back into the ball.

He gets a sudden urge to touch her, and he's very well aware that that urge is very often. Today she's not even dresses in one of her nice dresses, just some olive green cover for her body which doesn't give her enough credit, but is appropriate when it comes to tending for a sick child. It would be harder for her to move in one of those rich dresses. Her hair is gathered into a braid which goes all the way to the middle of her back, maybe even to the place where her spine ends. She looks similar to the first day he had ever laid eyes on her, just without all the dirt and mud covering her skin and clothes.

It's surprising how beautiful she can look no matter what she wears or how she styles her hair, while some women have to spend hours getting ready to look presentable. Elena barely spends time in front of a mirror and yet she manages to look more beautiful than the day before.

The more he looks at her, the more beautiful she becomes. Everyday is an opportunity for him to find one more thing which makes her irresistible.

He puts his arms around her waist, his fingers colliding on her stomach, and she winces a little. He doesn't put much thought to it, he had probably surprised her, so he whispers in her ear, "Ever. Not even when you become my wife."

He can hear her smile because the sight of it pierces through air.

He lets go of her when she tries to turn around to face him. There's a wrap in her hands, she's clearly ready to go back to her self assigned duty. When she steps forward she almost loses the ground under her feet. Her knees buckle and everything goes black for a second, and he has to catch her so she doesn't fall over.

"You're already getting down with something!" he gasps as he steadies her, his hands wrapped around her arms, his fingers squeezing around her elbows.

She inhales deeply when the picture before her eyes becomes normal. The air clears her mind and there's no more blackness, everything is colorful and bright as it's supposed to be.

"Nonsense," there's a crease between her brows as she frowns when she remembers the situation she's in, "I've been taking care of my brother for years and I never even once caught something. I know how to protect myself from these things," her voice is stern and her eyes are piercing directly into his, telling him she's not backing down.

"Elena, you seemed as if you're going to pass out," he says worriedly, still holding onto her, wondering is it for her benefit, or his.

"I'm fine," she even smiles to reassure him, "I'm just feeling lightheaded. I didn't get much sleep last night," she lies.

After few minutes he slowly lets go of her when he's convinced she can stand on her own.

"I know we have the best physicians on the Court, but they come and they go. So do the maids," she says compassionately, "She's five years old and she's all alone here. She's probably scared as well and she needs someone who she can trust. Someone to hold her hand."

He looks into her shimmering eyes and notices how hazy they are. Worry flickers inside of him, but soon he attributes the haze to her compassion. After all, she knows a thing or two about feeling completely and utterly alone.

_How amazing can she be,_ he thinks to himself.

So he puts his palms on her jaw, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs before planting a long kiss on her forehead. "When you're done holding her hand, there will be a cup of tea waiting for you."

* * *

When Stefan enters his work room Damon is already there, sitting on the edge of the desk, playing with a letter opener.

Stefan rarely spends time in this room since he's not very fond of it. It was his fathers favorite room because that was the only room on the Court where he was able to get some privacy. The room is cold, made out of gray stone with no curtains on the windows. There are some books on the shelves and several pictures on the walls, a writing desk in the middle of the room and two chairs in front of it. It's half empty. He uses it mostly to read and write letters and sign important documents.

"Where is my sister in law?" Damon asks when he notices Stefan entering the room, and this time he even manages to say it without spite.

Stefan smiles at his brother's attempt to be polite. "She's tending the little girl," he feels no need to explain things further because everyone on the Court are familiar with the little girl stay with them until she gets better. They have more understanding for his actions this time than they did when Elena was in question, since a child's life is at stake.

Damon jumps from the desk to his feet. "But she will get ill herself," his eyes go wide and he drops the letter opener on the table.

"Careful brother," Stefan takes his position in the chair behind the desk, "I might think you actually care," his smirk is wide and self indulgent.

Damon straightens himself, cleaning his face of worry and shock. "Well, if she dies now, all this mess would be for nothing," his expression becomes somber as he sits in the chair on the other side of the desk.

Stefan straightens himself as well, "I did warn her, she said it's nonsense."

Damon furrows his brows. "Order her then," his voice is strict.

Stefan laughs. "You don't give orders to a woman like Elena," he says, thinking about how no one has a right to give anyone any kind of orders, except to those who beg for them. "Anyway, is there something you need?"

Damon seems happy with this question, ready to jump into action. "We have to discuss battle plans," he nods, "Also, a letter arrived for you," he takes a letter out of his jacket and throws it on the desk in front of Stefan.

Stefan opens the letter and glances over it. He frowns as he starts reading it in its entirety.

Damon notices confusion in his brothers eyes. "Something wrong?" he asks.

It takes few more seconds for Stefan to finish reading the letter, "It's from Princess of France."

Damon frowns as well. "Does she write in her fathers behalf?"

"No," Stefan shakes his head, his eyes still on the letter, "On her own. She wants to come to the Court, to talk things through."

Damon barks with laughter, "They're afraid!"

"No, she is," Stefan says, "She finds her fathers actions inappropriate and unnecessary."

It takes few moments for either of them to speak again.

"So, what are you going to do?" Damon asks, and Stefan thinks how this is the first time his brother actually asked for his opinion rather than exposing his own first.

"I need some time to think it through," he doesn't want to leave for another war, but then again, it would be such an easy war. It could benefit them greatly. Still, he doesn't want to underestimate his opponents, it's the worst thing a leader can do. Think he's invincible.

The moment Damon opens his mouth to speak, Caroline swings into the room, her face red and puffy, and she says his name while trying to catch her breath, so it comes out hoarse, "Stefan," she tries to elevate her breathing, "You have to come with me. It's Elena," her eyes grow wide at the same time Stefan's do, "She collapsed."

* * *

_**AN: Uh, oh, did Elena overestimate her ability to avoid illness?**_


	20. Chapter 20

Stefan pushes the door of her bedroom open rapidly so that they hit the wall behind them.

Elena, who is sitting on her bed, with a cup of tea in her lap, jerks a little from the sudden rush of violent sounds.

Damon and Caroline, who followed Stefan down the hall to Elena's room, stay in the hallway, right in front of her room.

"Elena!" he says her name with a high pitched voice while walking across the room, towards her. He takes the tea cup, with its plate, from her lap, and places it on the table by her bed. He crouches in front of her, both of his knees pressing into the warm carpet in front of her bed, and takes her cold hands in his, caressing the top of them with his thumbs. Their eyes meet and he notices she's been crying. Her eyes are hazy, glassy, her eyelids heavy. Thick, black eyelashes are fluttering up and down too fast.

He gasps silently. "You're freezing," is all he manages to say, his voice heavy and sharp.

She keeps her eyes on him, her look is warm, but also heavy, like she's trying to tell him something but he doesn't understand what. He notices she got out of the thin olive dress she's been wearing, and is now coated with a heavy dark blue dress to keep her warm. Even though Spring should be here soon it's still not warm enough for her to be wearing such light fabrics.

"Are you feeling better?" Stefan whips his head around only to notice that Caroline and Damon are now in her room. Caroline is standing by the bed, one of her hands gripping on the carved wooden handle, and Damon is standing behind her, his posture indicating that he's uncomfortable. He's swinging his hands behind his back until he clasps his fingers together and they stay in that position permanently.

"Yes," Elena says warmly, and Stefan looks at her when he realizes she finally spoke for the first time since they came to her room, "I'm feeling much better now, thank you," her voice is different somehow. It's more peaceful, warmer, steadier, lighter. If her voice were a thing, it would be a feather of some warm color, like yellow. Or the color of sunset.

"Where is the physician?" Stefan lets go of her hands which got to their normal temperature while being coddled in his and stands up to his feet.

Elena stands up as well. They're standing so close to each other that their faces almost touch when she pushes herself up from the bed. The tip of her nose grazes the tip of his. "I sent him away after he was done with me," she sniffles.

"Are - are you sick?" the fear is evident in his voice, "Do you have the same thing the girl has?" if she does, he has someone to blame.

Her look becomes sharp, like she's judging him for the words he's saying. "No," she shakes her head firmly. She's keeping her hands in front of her, fingertips of one hand pressing onto the fingertips of another.

She even looks cold. Her skin is not of its usual color, it's not even pale, it's the color of a plum. Like she went through some sort of a shock. Like someone knocked the air out of her lungs. Even her lips aren't the usual strawberry color, and they're pulled into a thin line. If it weren't for her warm look in her eyes he would think she's lying to him. There's so much life in those eyes that there's no way she's sick. "The physician said I'm not showing any symptoms of illness," she concludes when she notices the weary expression on his face, picking her words carefully.

"Well, you're not going back there," he says firmly, crossing his arms across his chest.

Her eyes go wide and the warmth is replaced by shock and disbelief. "Excuse me?" her voice is faint, like the words are going in instead of out.

"Even if you aren't ill, there must be a reason why you collapsed," he stands by his words, "No need to make it worse," he tries to reach out to her, but he also knows she's too stubborn to listen to reason.

"Yes, there is," a crease appears between her brows like a small paper cut, "Tiredness. I haven't slept last night," she tries to prove him wrong, even though it's a lie. She slept just fine, maybe even an hour longer than she usually does. "I also forgot to eat," this one is at least half true, she was so busy these last few days that she barely ate anything.

"You forgot to eat?" Stefan asks wearily, clearly doubting her words.

"Yes," she shrugs it off as casually as she can, "Now excuse me, I have to go back - "

"I thought we agreed you're not going back there," he interrupts her before she gets a chance to finish her sentence, his voice sharper than either of them would like it to be.

"No," she raises her voice, her eyes as cold on him as her skin is, "You agreed, I never did," she walks by him, clipping his shoulder with hers and fights her way between Caroline and Damon to leave the room.

* * *

Night falls too soon. She must have been out for much longer than she initially thought.

Before going to the girls room she stops by the kitchen to eat something. She curses herself for being so careless, for not eating the full amount of her meals, but just taking few crumbs on the way, like a bird.

Even when she heard her stomach calling to her, begging for food, she disregarded it.

When she enters the room she can smell the scent of illness. It's so dark in the room that she can barely see where she's going, so she takes few candles out of the cupboard, when she manages to find it, and lights them up. The light fills the room, pushing shadows in the corner, and the light falls onto the girls face, showing her pale skin, she's ghostly white, she looks like there's a coat made out of snow covering her body. Her long, dark hair is damp, her neck wet from the sweat induced by the fever. She hasn't opened her eyes in such a long time that Elena forgot what color they are. It looks like her eyelids are falling deeper into her eye socket.

The room is so unbelievably cold and when she wants to ask someone to light some fire in the fireplace she can't find anyone on the Court who's able to do so. Everyone went to sleep. Despite the coldness of the room the girl is still sweating, but she's also shivering, her teeth start clunking few times a day for barely a minute, so Elena decides to put one more blanket on her.

She sits on the chair next to the girls bed and takes her little hand into her own.

Her skin is so cold, like stone. There are purple veins going all way over her arm. Her fingertips are hard. Elena tries to warm the girls hand with her own.

"Margret," she whispers the girls name, her voice cracking. Cracking like the walls of the small room they've settled her in, room made out of gray stone which can't get warm no matter how much wood there's in the fireplace. She sweats even during the cold, and she shivers no matter how many blankets Elena pulls over her body.

Her other hand flies to the girls forehead which is hot and sweaty. She's still burning up, her skin is like fire and soon her whole body will burn.

Elena sighs, still squeezing the girls hand in her own.

The girl doesn't respond to her own name. She stopped responding a while ago.

Elena starts shivering herself and she doesn't know if it's because it's so cold in the room or because of her own fear of telling Stefan. Why is she so afraid of telling him? Why is she so afraid of the situation at all?

"I'm so silly to be afraid, aren't I?" Elena asks, her whole face falling under the light flicker of the candles. She doesn't expect the girl to respond, of course, she just needs someone to hear her out. She needs to get it out.

It's completely natural. It's something she knew will happen eventually. It's something she wanted, something she still _wants_.

She knows she has to talk to him, but she can't leave now.

She can't will herself to. Stefan doesn't understand what it truly means to be alone.

So she stays there for few more hours, tugging onto the girls hand and silently humming a lullaby.

* * *

"Stefan," she says his name silently after knocking gently on the door once and opening them just enough to slip inside.

Before coming to his room she stopped by hers to let her hair out of the braid and to change into her nightgown. She wanted to get out of that heavy dress desperately.

It's the middle of the night, so she knows the chances of him being awake are slim. When she enters the room she can see lights of two candles by his bed flickering over his sleepy face.

She moves towards him, slowly, soundlessly, like she's walking on the thin air. She notices how warm his room is in comparison to Margret's. She's wearing just a thin, silky nightgown and all she can feel is the warmth of the fire coming from the fireplace. It's so intense that it warms her insides.

"Stefan," she calls for him one more time, her voice soft and silky, but loud enough to be heard in the emptiness of the night where the cracking of fire is the only sound. She places her hand on his shoulder and shakes him lightly.

He murmurs in his sleep, a frown of distaste evident on his face. He's clearly not happy about being woken up. His eyelids flutter open, slowly, and when his eyes capture her in front of him he opens them fully, trying to sit up.

"Elena?" his voice is still sleepy, "What time is it? What are you doing here?" he rubs his eyes with his fingertips few times before he manages to keep them open for more than few seconds.

"I - I came to apologize," she scoots on the bed closer to him, lifting her feet up when she starts feeling prickling of concrete under them. "I hate when we fight," she puts her hands on top of his, shivering a little when their skin collides. She wonders will he ever stop having such an effect on her.

He wiggles one of his hands from under hers and brings it to her face, his fingers cupping her cheek and caressing her skin, making it rosy red. "I know," he leans in and plants one of those quick butterfly kisses in the middle of her forehead, "I hate it too," he says after removing his lips from her skin. His forehead falls against hers, their faces are so close that their noses are touching. He inhales deeply, trying to keep her scent in his nostrils forever.

She smells like sunshine in the winter and first years snow and a first blossomed rose. She smells like lavender and love and happiness.

"I miss you," he whispers into her ear, his hands going up and down her arms, warming her up even though there's absolutely no need to.

"I know," she nods slowly against his head. She knows to what he's referring to. She hasn't slept in his room for quite some time. Since the day she became suspicious. Margret coming over was a nice excuse for staying away from him, from his room and from being intimate. She didn't know is she allowed to. It occurs to her that she doesn't really know anything and that she needs to tell Stefan right away so someone can inform her of how she's supposed to behave from now on. "I miss you too," she pushes her lips against his with such force that in the beginning she can feel a surge of sharp pain.

She hasn't been this close to him for such a long time. His skin wasn't on hers for weeks. She concluded that's for the best since even his touch over her clothes would make her flinch. It would fill her with fear, it would only remind her that his touch is the origin of her fear.

That's how it started, with a simple touch. A touch that turned into so much more. He planted it on her body, inside of her skin, and that little touch, simple scraping of someone's else skin against hers, blossomed into love.

She throws her arms around his neck, something she's used to doing, and deepens their kiss. She swallows his gasp when his body almost tumbles on top of hers. When he loses his breath and reaches for air his lips never go back to hers. They go to her neck. She pushes her head backwards and exposes her neck to his lips entirely. She can feel his fingers on it as well, moving her hair away from it. Those same fingers start falling from her neck, over her shoulder, a wave of energy going through her. When his fingers fall over her breast, she moans.

For a moment she can't believe she survived so long without his touch. She doesn't want to be without it for this long again. Now she realizes that her skin actually began dying without proper attention being paid to it.

How could she ever think this is not allowed just because she's..

Of course this is allowed. It feels too good not to be.

His hands fall on the small of her back and she finds herself in his tight grip. He's all over her. Dripping from her lips, slipping down her throat, dancing on her mind, crawling under her skin, squeezing her heart, flowing in her blood. She can feel him with every fiber of her being, she can feel him on places he's not even close to touching.

He pulls her closer to him, so close that her whole weight shifts to his lap, and she remembers the first night they made love.

That night changed everything. It erased all of the past mistakes and left a clean, white slate for the future to be written on it. Nothing before that night mattered, because he took all the pain away with just one touch. One kiss.

Before him she was never touched, never kissed, never appreciated, never loved. Not properly, not in a way she was supposed to be.

He removes the material from her shoulder and starts kissing her exposed skin when she murmurs. Her words are muffled, lost, like she's delirious. In a way, she is. Love is a drug which creates an addiction, and deliria is just one of the side effects. "Take it all off," is what she's trying to say.

He understands her, to her own surprise. He tugs on the hem of her nightgown and pulls in up her body, over her head, making it fly to the other side of the room.

He looks at her hungrily, with desire.

He can't believe how lucky he is. How lucky that she appeared in his life. He is still mad, angry with the world and himself, that he hasn't met her earlier so he can save her from all the bad things that fell over her life like a shadow. He knows he will have to let that feeling go eventually, but he also knows that he's not ready to let it go just yet. He needs to be angry some more, until she's safe, absolutely safe, because that anger is what drives him. His desperate need to save her.

He tries to pin point the moment when he started pining for her. Wishing for her. When he started dreaming about her body and her heart. And the answer is forever. When she came along she just gave that lifelong wish a face.

Her eyes. He could have seen it in her eyes. That she's the one.

She tries to take off his night shirt and with a little help from him, she succeeds. Her hands fly to his chest, feeling the hardness of it, feeling all the little cuts and bruises, which still haven't healed, under her fingertips. She loves feeling his chest, because it's as hard and safe and solid as the ground she stands upon.

She pushes him lightly backwards and he falls onto the bed. She places herself on top of him, her lips falling on his chest, paying the same amount of attention to every spot.

His hands are on her body and they're everywhere. She's completely naked on top of him so he's taking his chance to feel every inch of her skin, from her shoulders to her thighs.

When she finally feels him inside of her a smile flickers on her face. She feels relieved. She feels like everything is going to be okay. There was no reason to worry, anyway, it was all in her head.

Her body goes up and she starts moving her hips. Her hands find their way to his and their fingers intertwine.

She's home.

* * *

They make love until the dawn comes. Later, Stefan says they were making up for the lost times.

It becomes so bright in the room that candles by his bed are unneeded but they leave them flickering anyway. They're too lazy, and too tired, to put them out. The wood in the fireplace burned down, making the room a little bit colder than it was before, but their skin is still so hot and slippery and electric that neither of them notice a change in the temperature.

She's lying naked on top of him, the only thing separating their bodies is a royal blue silky sheet. If their skin came in contact at this moment they would probably end up being glued together.

"I was thinking," he says suddenly. Her arms are crossed on his chest, her chin pressed onto them. She's looking at him through her eyelashes, kissing his jaw every now and then. His fingers are in her hair and he can feel prickling of sweat on the back of her neck every time his fingertips come in touch with it. "We should get married before I go to war."

She exhales a hot stream of air which crashes into his chin. "We have time," she shrugs his words off.

She wants to marry him. She wants to spend the rest of her life with him, no matter how short or long that life lasts. Even if minutes are in question, she would want to spend them married to him, just so she can hear him call her his wife, even once. His wife, his queen, she's not scared of either of those titles.

There's one title she's scared of more.

But she doesn't want to rush it either. She doesn't want him to marry her out of fear something will happen to him in the war. If he doesn't come back home, then she wouldn't be able to call this place a home anymore. She wouldn't want to be here without him. She doesn't care about safety, not if it doesn't include him.

"If something happens to me out there, I want you to be okay," her hair is no different from the silky sheets on his fingertips, he concludes.

"If something happens to you I won't be okay either way," she pushes herself off of him into a sitting position, straddling him, "Nothing is going to happen to you, anyway," she flashes him a smile. Her hair is everywhere, covering her back, her shoulders, her breasts. It's wet with sweat on some parts, parts which are close to her skin. On others, it's still wavy and free. "You're smart and strong and.." she starts drawing circles on his chest with her finger when she raises her look which collides with his, "And you're going to come home safely to us."

A crease appears between his eyebrows, closing them together, "Us?" he gives her a confused look.

_Us._ Not me.

Her eyes go wide.

It just slipped, she didn't even think.

Or maybe she meant to say it all along.

Maybe it's not the most perfect moment and maybe there won't be a moment more perfect than this one.

Maybe there's no such thing as perfect moments just ordinary times people themselves make incredible.

She sucks in some air before taking one of his hands into hers and slowly guiding it to her stomach. She keeps her eyes on his and when she feels his fingers slide on her skin she says silently, "Us."

His eyes are still wide so wide and he's not saying anything and for a moment she's afraid that he hasn't heard her and that she will have to say it again or that he can't find words to say because there aren't any words to say.

His fingers start moving over her stomach and he wonders how in the world did he miss it. A little bump, not even a visible one, but a huge change from her usually flat stomach. There's even a certain hardness to it, not just usual flesh and skin.

A baby. They're going to have a baby. Those words keep spinning in his mind, making him dizzy.

He always said he wants children with her. He still does. But he never thought about them coming unplanned.

"Are - are you mad?" she asks, her voice jumping and shivering.

His look slides from his hand on her stomach back to her face where he finds a look full of fear in her eyes. The lines of her face got relaxed and her eyes are glassy.

"Mad?" he asks like he doesn't understand the meaning of the word. He removes his hand from her stomach and slides both of his hands on her back, propping himself up in a sitting position. "Why would I ever be mad?" he asks in disbelief.

Her whole face drops, with relief or shame, she doesn't know. "I - I don't know," she stutters, her look finding his again, "Maybe you don't want it," she swallows those words like she can feel the wrongness of them.

"Elena," he says her name softly, his fingers caressing her cheek, "Why would you ever think such a thing?" Fingers of his other hand go back to her stomach, falling over it barely, slowly, like he's afraid of hurting her, "I already love this baby," he kisses the edge of her lip, "How long do you know?"

"I've been suspecting it for quite some time," she admits shamefully, "But the physician confirmed it only today."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he tries for his voice not to sound too accusatory.

"Because you were acting like an ass concerning Margret," she looks at him sternly before her look softens, "I was afraid, as well."

He puts his hands on her back and pulls her into a tight hug so that her head falls into the curve of his neck.

"Afraid?" he asks her soothingly while caressing her back.

Her arms go around his waist. "I was afraid I'm not able to stay with a child," she admits finally.

He pulls her away from him, his grip on her arms soft, but tight enough for her to feel it. "Why?" he frowns, worried she might have thought there's something wrong with her.

She doesn't bring up other men, they're an unpleasant memory buried deep in the back of her mind. Pain he took away. "We've been sleeping together for such a long time," it's been more than a year since they slept together for the first time, almost two, even though he spent months in battle which took away their chance to be together for a long time, "In the beginning I was afraid of getting pregnant and then it didn't happen and I thought it never will," her voice is hoarse, her eyes teary.

She wasn't even aware of how much effect this fear has on her.

"For some it takes longer.." he tries to make her feel better.

"I was afraid you won't want me anymore because no king wants a queen who can't give him an heir."

Those words stay lingering in the air. He wants to shake them away. He wants to throw them in the fire and burn them.

"Listen," he says sharply before his voice goes soft, "Children or no children, I would want you, always. No one can ever be sure they're going to have a son, everyone just hope they do, because they want to leave what they've been fighting for in the family. But I promise you, we will have more children than you can count," he smiles at her.

She smiles right back to him. "Stefan, if there's a way for you to avoid this war, please do. Please do it for us," she pleads him.

His mind instantly flickers to the offer Princess of France delivered to him. He doesn't say anything though, he just keeps smiling.

When his lips go down to her stomach and he plants a kiss on her skin, her smile becomes so wide it pierces through the air.

* * *

_**AN: In the beginning I was planning to make Elena sick, but I also hate unnecessary drama. I feel like these two have enough shit on their plates as it is.**_


	21. Chapter 21

"Stefan?" she calls his name while watching him get dressed late in the morning. They skipped breakfast time, but Stefan made her promise she will eat something anyway for both hers and the baby's sake.

When he felt the room is getting chilly, he jumped out of the bed to get her nightgown and covered her with ninety percent of the covers on the bed. She told him that he's being silly, but she secretly loved the attention he's giving her so she asked herself for how long will it last.

"Hmm?" he answers while buckling the belt around his waist.

"When we marry and this becomes our room," a goofy smile appears on her face just by thinking about it. She can see herself getting measured for the perfect dress, picking which flowers will decorate the ball room. Their wedding night might not be as special since they took care of the hardest part, but she's sure they will make it memorable. Everything they do together is memorable, perfectly cut in her memory. "Will I be able to do some decorating?" she asks innocently.

The room is big, nice, comfortable, but it's just that. A room. Not his room or their room, it's just a room someone is sleeping in. It's not private or personal and she wants to make it out to be.

He lifts his look from the belt to her face and gives her a warm smile. "Of course, do whatever you want," he spreads his arms like he's giving her a complete freedom to do whatever's on her mind.

She smiles happily, gently clapping her palms. She's still lying in his bed, which will soon enough be their bed, safe under the silky covers, lying on her back, watching him get dressed and wondering how did she get so lucky.

How come life decided she deserves more than what it's been giving her? Maybe life itself took pity of her so it gave her strength and courage to come back and build herself a home. Here, with him.

She watches him from the distance, his hair glowing like halo around his head, the lines of his face smiling alongside his eyes and lips and in that moment she has a feeling like his whole being is smiling.

He moves towards her, lightly and slowly, like he's floating on air and brings his lips down to hers once he's by her side.

She wonders does he wish a boy so much and will he be disappointed if it's a girl. She wishes the baby to have his angelic eyes instead of her dull, brown ones, and the wheat color of his hair and his floating smile. She wonders does he wishes the same, for the baby to look like her, because she came to realize that when you fall in love with someone, they're the most beautiful person in the world to you, and you see their face on every body you pass by, and you wish your child to turn out like them. In reality you're not wishing for the features of their face but their soul.

Her whole body shivers when his lips fall on hers and they engage in a slow, eternal kiss. His hand drops on her stomach and she can feel his fingers caressing her over the material of clothes and covers. Even though there's so much between their skin, she can feel his fingers on the bare skin of her stomach. She remembers how it feels, so she wills herself to feel it.

"I'm so happy," he presses his forehead against hers, "Sometimes I worry I don't tell you enough how happy you make me. When I was imagining a perfect life, it never felt as good as it feels now, while it's actually happening. I love you so much," he moves his lips to her forehead and plants a small kiss on it, but a kiss of such high intensity that it manages to make her smile.

He moves his face away from hers so he's able to look her in the eyes. His eyes are open fully, inviting, waiting for hers to fall on his, and once they do he takes her hand with his free one and squeezes it, "I also worry I didn't show you how happy I am when you told me last night," he sighs in disappointment, "I was in shock, honestly, because that's the last thing I expected to hear. I never even considered it as a possibility which is, quite frankly, very idiotic from me," he laughs and she chuckles nervously, her hand sweating in his, "But while I was lying there last night, after you fell asleep in my arms, I remembered this is exactly what I want. A family with you," he brings their joined hands to his lips and kisses each of her fingers.

"I know I told you this already, but I was so scared," her voice is hoarse and he can tell she's on the verge of tears, "You told me so many times, that you want us to be a family and I think that's what I was scared of. When I think of family I think of loss and when a thought of being pregnant crossed my mind, it became so real, and I felt like I was one stop closer to losing you. Now I know I'm only getting one more piece of you. Because when you think about it, it's so miraculous," she takes both of his hands and guides them to her stomach where they rest with open palms, "We did this," she laughs quietly as his hands rest on her stomach which is still flat, but as hard as a rock.

"Yes, we did," he whispers, kissing her cheek. "Elena?"

"Yeah?" worry crushes her because of the way he says her name.

"Remember how last night you told me to try to avoid this war? Well, there is a way.." he says nervously, not sure of this option.

But she beams up. "Yeah?" the corners of her lips fly up, forming a smile.

"Princess of France wrote to me," and just like that, her smile drops, "She wants to come here - "

"She's the enemy," Elena protests, feeling a little insecure.

How stupid of me, she tells herself, I'm carrying his child but I worry of him choosing someone else over me. It's not just me now.

"She wants to come to speak for herself, not her father," he explains.

She lets go of his hands.

"Elena, this is our only chance to avoid another battle," he says as she turns her back to him, "Why are you acting like this?"

"And how am I acting, my Lord?" her voice goes higher than she intended to.

He swallows. "Like I'm - "

"Like you're what?" she whips her head around as she snaps at him, "Choose her over me?"

"You're jealous," he doesn't ask, he states.

She doesn't respond to that. There's nothing to say.

She turns her back to him again.

"Fine Elena," he says the next words sadly, but determined, "Be jealous."

* * *

She sneaks out of his room and with a running step goes to her own.

She chooses a reddish dress, the one which color reminds her of sunset, made out of thick and warm material. She has to admit that she was cold yesterday in a simple, thin olive dress meant for Spring.

When she takes her nightgown off, she looks at her naked figure in the mirror. There are no more scars on her body. Her thighs, her hips, the lower part of her stomach are perfectly clean. Her skin is smooth and clear. She admires herself for few seconds because she hasn't felt like this in years. Actually, she never felt like this. Like she is truly beautiful. There are no traces of scars and they're probably gone for some time now, she just failed to notice.

She puts her undergarments on, and she pulls a dress over them. She lets her hair fall over her back.

Why is she feeling like this? Why is she acting like this?

She knows Stefan. She loves Stefan. She trusts Stefan. She knows he would never do anything to betray her. He already did so much for them and their relationship, much more than either of them thought is possible. More than she expected, and more than he let himself hope for. She knows he would never throw that away because of one woman, no matter who that woman is.

She's the one for him. He keeps proving that to her time after time after time. So why is she betraying him like this?

Why is she being so ungrateful?

Her questions bring tears to her eyes and few drops fall over her rosy cheeks.

The problem is not in him, the problem is in her insecurities.

She tries to see herself through his eyes. She tries to see herself as someone who is as beautiful and smart and brave as he says she is, but the only thing she can see is herself. Her plain, old self. Not someone magnificent, not the person he sees.

She wishes she could see herself like he sees her. Maybe then she would understand.

Her hair is long and brown and wavy and ordinary, like most women have, but he finds it irresistible. She's fairly pretty, with her big, brown eyes and gentle facial lines. Her nose is small and perky, her cheeks chubby, always full of color, as well as her thin, small lips. She is not tall, but she is not short either and she's slim. She has curves on her body, but sometimes she finds herself too skinny.

He sees her as perfect. She sees him as perfect. That's how it goes when you fall in love. Maybe he hates his light sandy hair, the one she loves so much. Maybe he thinks his eyes are too green when, for her, they're just green enough.

She's so different from the girl who came here two years ago. She was 16 years old, ready to sacrifice her whole life for justice. She never thought something brilliant is waiting for her. The idea of living her life never even crossed her mind. Her mind was set on one thing and one thing only. She was ready to die for it.

Until she wasn't. Until she realized she wants to live.

And in these two incredibly long years, she lived. Oh how she lived. She fell in love with a boy and she kissed a boy and she made love to a boy and he showed her there's more to her than a paper girl she's been all these years.

She's going to marry that boy, because he loves her so much he found a loop in a law. Because he went in front of thousand of people to ask for her hand in marriage. She's pregnant with the boy's baby and it's only going to be first out of many and they're going to be a family.

She wipes her tears and leaves her room to find Caroline.

After half an hour of searching, she finally finds her in the common room, drinking her tea.

"Elena!" she beams up when she notices a friendly face entering the room, "What a pleasant surprise," she jumps to her feet excitedly.

Elena forces a smile to her face, for Caroline's sake. "Likewise," she replies, holding a fake smile hung on her lips.

"Is there anything I can do for you," she asks while sitting back down on the sofa.

Elena sits next to her. Her whole face drops. "I'm afraid me and Stefan had a fight," she says regretfully.

The color drains from Caroline's face. "But - but, things are so good for you two now. You can get married. What could you possibly fight about?"

Elena wiggles her lips. "Caroline," she says her name cautiously, putting her hands on top of Caroline's, "There's something I have to tell you. A secret."

Caroline's eyes go wide. She loves secrets. "Yes?" she leans closer to Elena, almost ending up in her lap.

Elena looks around herself to make sure they're alone before saying, "I'm with a child."

Caroline stills her wide eyes on Elena's, for a minute, two, three, before a wide smile crosses her lips, "Oh, Elena," she throws her arms around Elena's shoulders and pulls her into a hug, "I'm so happy for you. Both of you," Elena's hands land on Caroline's back. "It took you long enough," Caroline giggles.

Elena's throat tightens. She's afraid this is a dream from which she will wake up soon. She's afraid her fear will come alive, fear of not being able to stay with a child. It's not only the fear of Stefan leaving her because of it. She wants children. She always wanted them.

"Why did you two have a fight, though?" Caroline lets her go out of the hug, "Did - did Stefan say something that might have upset you when it comes to your situation?" Caroline can't imagine that being the case. Stefan always wanted a big family, so it's about time to get started.

"No," Elena shakes her head, "He says he's happy. It - it's me," she admits shamefully.

"You're not happy?" Caroline asks in disbelief.

"No!" Elena shrieks, "I'm the one who messed up. When I told him the news, I asked him to take the easy road out of this war. If there's a way to end it, any other way than the battle, to take it. This morning he told me there is a way. Princess of France wants to come here."

Caroline's eyes go wide again, this time with shock.

"Apparently, she wants peace the easy way as well.."

Caroline finally gets a rough idea of what this might be about. "But you think she might want something else as well."

Elena nods, glad Caroline understands her point of view.

"Even if she does," Caroline adds, "Stefan doesn't. He made his choice."

A painful chuckle climbs up Elena's throat and falls down her lips. "She's a Princess of France, and I'm nothing!"

"You're not nothing!" Caroline says irritated, "You're the woman he loves! You're the woman he fought for! You're the woman carrying his child," her voice lowers as she says the last sentence. Her cheeks are red and puffy and her eyes full of anger. She can't believe Elena could ever doubt Stefan. "It really doesn't matter who you are, though. You know what does matter? Who he is."

Elena watches her with awe and certain dose of curiosity.

"He spent his whole life dreaming about you. Do you know how many boys do that? One in a million," Caroline answers her own question, "That doesn't make you nothing. That makes you one in a million as well."

* * *

Stefan storms into his study and slumps himself in a chair with such force that the chair shakes under his weight.

His fingers crumble around a paper, the top one from the stack, and he forces it on the desk in front of him, dipping the feather into the ink bottle.

"I saw you storming in here!" Damon's voice flows into the room, "Is there something wrong?" he sounds worried.

Stefan doesn't lift his look from the letter to acknowledge his brothers presence. Instead, he starts writing. "There are many things wrong," he says bitterly.

"Who are you writing to?" Damon asks, a frown possessing his face.

"Princess of France," Stefan says through his teeth, angrily, like she herself is to blame for his current anger, "I'm telling her she might as well come here. To talk," he says the last words mockingly.

How can Elena even think he would ever leave her? Especially now?

"Why?" Damon asks, surprisingly calm. He doesn't believe in victory unless it's achieved by a sword.

Stefan puts the feather on the table and leans into the chair. "Close the door," he sighs, motioning towards the door with his hand.

Damon does so before walking over to the table and sitting on a chair across his brother.

"Elena asked me to," Stefan balls his hands into fists, joining them together by intertwining fingers on the edge of the table.

"Elena asked you to?" Damon asks confused before the usual spitefulness creeps into his voice, "She's making decisions for you now?" his voice raises a little and this time, Stefan doesn't stop him. This time, he knows he deserves it. "Why don't we just take her to the battlefield, then? She can decide which strategy to use," Damon's voice is full of mockery.

"She can't go to the battlefield," Stefan says as if that wasn't obvious already, "I can't go."

"And why is that?" curiosity flashes across Damon's face.

The lines of Stefan's face relax, and so do his body muscles which were rigid until this moment, "Because she's pregnant."

Silence overflows the room. Stefan keeps his eyes locked with Damon's.

"Congratulations," Damon says finally while swallowing hard.

"Thank you," Stefan answers silently.

"This battle is unnecessary, Damon," Stefan exhales tiredly, "It's an unnecessary risk. We know they're weak, they know they're weak, but we never know what might go wrong. Our father might have been an ass," a smirk appears on Damon's lips as Stefan says so, "But he thought us one important thing. The worst thing is going to battle, sure you're going to win. Being too sure in yourself can be as deadly as being afraid. And those men out there, our men, they know the damage they did, and they know they can do it again, which can make them careless. And I can't risk it. I don't want to risk it. Not when she's here, not when I love her, not when she's going to have a baby. She doesn't even want to get married until this whole thing is over, because she doesn't want to be here if by any chance I don't come home. So I can't go anywhere. Do you understand that?" he pleads his brother.

After few minutes of silence Damon says through a whisper, "I understand. You do what you have to do. It's not like you're bringing an enemy here. She just wants to talk, right?"

Stefan chuckles. "Not if you ask Elena."

"Excuse me?" Damon cocks his eyebrow in Stefan's direction.

Stefan rubs his forehead with the tips of his thumbs. "She's.. jealous," he exhales those words as if they carry so much weight that he struggles to push them out of his mouth.

Damon laughs loudly, "Of course she is," he barks.

Stefan removes his fingers from his head and gives his brother a curious glance.

"Look, Stefan," Damon settles into his chair like he's preparing himself to give his brother a lesson, "I know it doesn't matter to you, who she is. But it matters to her, because her whole life, unlike you, she wasn't anyone important. In her head, she still isn't. She thinks she's replaceable. Not for you, but for this life."

"So what should I do?" he can't believe he's asking relationship advice from his brother.

"Let the Princess come here and prove to Elena that she has nothing to worry about."


	22. Chapter 22

She knocks on the washed, wooden door of his study. "Stefan?" his name escapes her gently, carefully, slowly, like she's trying to keep it for herself, but say it out loud at the same time. She pushes the door open only a little, enough for her to slide into the room.

When she enters cold air washes over her, making her shiver. There are goosebumps all over her skin, safely hidden under the material of her dress. No matter how much they try to warm that room, the freezing, gray stone always wins in its intention.

"Elena," he reacts to her imagine as if he's surprised to see her there, standing in front of him.

He has every right to be surprised, though. They had a fight just couple of hours ago, he probably wasn't expecting her to come to him so soon. Or at all.

She bows her head, her look collapsing on the stone she's standing on, out of shame. Her whole body aches when she remembers how she was acting like this morning, how jealous and childish. To make it worse, all those feelings were based on nothing but her own illogical insecurities.

She makes few steps forward, but not enough to reach him. "I came here to apologize," she says silently, her voice sounding hoarse and pensive, "Again," she adds, a small frown climbing up the lines of her face.

When he doesn't say anything she raises her look to meet his. The corners of her lips curve into a small smile. "I guess I've been doing a lot of that recently," a small chuckle escapes her and she pulls her lips into a thin line, like she wants to prevent anything else from coming out. "Apologizing," she exhales, only to fill the air with something more than anticipation.

He doesn't say a word, not even when silence fills the room and makes it even colder than it was a minute before.

"Stefan, please," her voice falls into a whisper as she pleads him, "I do not want us to fight. I do not want you to be mad at me," she wraps her arms around herself, her fingers landing on her shoulders.

"Elena," he says her name tiredly, making her cringe. He rubs his forehead with his thumbs. "I'm not mad," he exhales, "I'm worried."

She purses her lips to speak, her nose crinkling, "Worried?" she asks confused.

"Yes," he answers instantly, like this has been on his mind for quite some time, "Worried I ever gave you a reason to doubt me," he moves his fingers away, worry flickering in his eyes, "Have I?"

She stares at him, thinking how she has no answers for him. Only apologies and promises that she will be better from now on, that it will never happen again.

"No, my Lord," she says respectfully, feeling so little in front of his eyes, so irrelevant.

Like a grain of dust hidden by a shadow.

"I was never your Lord, Elena. I was always just Stefan."

Her breath catches inside of her throat, never finding its way out, just lingering there, teasing the inside of her mouth. Tickling. Making her want to laugh or choke.

He stands up.

"It was like that from the beginning, that's where the magic comes from," he moves towards her. She wants to run. She's afraid he will say something she doesn't want to hear. She's afraid she did something he can't cross over. "I never had power over you. You were always the one who had power over me."

She exhales in relief when he says those words even though she never felt like she overpowers him.

"You were always," he says, taking her hands into his once he reaches her, "Always," he emphasizes the word, "The one for me."

She blushes under the intensity of those words, and she smiles because she feels exactly the same about him. There never was anyone but him, and there never will be. Her falling in love with him is a fixed point in time, it can't be changed. It's going to happen no matter what.

Some things are just meant to be.

"Did I ever give you a reason for jealousy, Elena?" he asks expectantly, holding her look with his.

She shakes her head rapidly. "No," she answers simply, her throat sore from just that one word.

"Then how do you explain your reaction?"

"I love you so much," she says defensively, like she can't think of another thing to say. Her voice is teary and soon her eyes become too. "And I trust you completely. I know you would never do anything to hurt me, not just because you're a noble person but because I know you love me as well. The problem is not in you, or how I feel about you, or what I know you would or wouldn't do. The problem is in me," she says sadly, tearing her look away from his.

He lets go of her hands and moves his palms to her face, cupping it, making her look at him. "How so?"

Her lower lip trembles as she tries to make sense of herself. "I feel like I'm not adequate for this," she admits, "I feel like I'm not smart enough or beautiful enough or kind enough. I'm afraid of letting you down."

His weary look keeps moving over her teary face, her tears sinking into his fingertips. "Other people seem to believe in you more than you believe in yourself," he makes an observation.

She nods, " I know," she says a little ashamed, "I feel trapped."

"Trapped?" he shrieks in surprise, his eyes going wide.

"I feel like this all the time, like I'm not good enough for any of this, but I have to stay. Because there's nowhere else to go. There's nowhere else I would rather be, as well," she admits, lowering her cheek against his palm.

He stays silent for few seconds, trying to digest her words. Finally, he nods. "I guess it was foolish of me to think I can turn your whole world upside down and for you to be okay with it instantly," he exhales, his palms still on her face, his thumbs cleaning her tears.

"I will get used to it, though," she says rapidly, "I just need time."

"I know you will," he nods while swallowing hard, his throat contracting, "And until you do, I'm going to tell you that you're the kindest, smartest and most beautiful woman I've seen in my life."

She smiles, planting a small kiss in the middle of his palm. "And afterwards?"

"When you realize it, there will be no room for words."

* * *

It takes him quite some time to send his letter to the Princess of France. He writes it the same day he has his fight with Elena, and rewrites it when they make up. He rewrites it many times after that, especially after telling the Council she will be coming to the Court, but that he has no intention of marrying her.

He tells them that he has no intention of marrying anyone but Elena, and they seem appalled, but they also know there's nothing they can do.

That doesn't keep them from discussing, though. About how they think the Princess coming here is an awful idea. How it won't solve anything. They never come to a conclusion, just with more problems, so they keep discussing for days. Weeks even.

When they finally finish, surrendering to Stefan's option, he sends the letter. Four weeks later, four weeks too late.

It takes a week for her letter of acceptance to come.

In the meantime, he makes sure to tell Elena how beautiful she is, how graceful and elegant and kind and smart and eloquent. He repeats it twice on the days he thinks she doesn't believe him. It makes her smile. It makes her smile every time, which only reminds him to tell her what a beautiful smile she has. He never says it before, though, because afterwards she smiles again and it's like a blessing in disguise.

It makes him realize he's been taking her for granted. He knew he loves her, but he wasn't saying it enough. Not after she became his.

He kisses her everyday.

When the Princess finally arrives, a little more than a week after she sent her letter, Elena tenses.

She doesn't complain, she smiles and lets him go, but the smile is wrong and fake and he wants to replace it with a real one. He wants to take the fear away from her, and wipe those translucent tears in her eyes, but he has to go. Damon urges him to go, and she holes up in their room with Caroline.

They decide to meet with the Princess in the common room.

When she walks in Stefan has to admit that she's beautiful, with shiny strawberry blond hair which is decorated with locks, eyes almost greener than Stefan's, cheeks pink, almost too pink on her pale, porcelain skin.

Yes, she is beautiful, he has to give her that. But that's the only thought that consumes his mind.

While Damon is a whole different story. Stefan can hear his breath stop in his throat when she walks in and takes her fluffy, white coat from her face and smiles at them while bowing.

He remembers what Damon said about kittens, and the Princess fits into that image perfectly.

"Your Grace," she says politely, her voice as soft as snow, while taking her dress between her fingertips to pull it above the ground to bow before them.

Stefan nods politely in her direction and motions for her to sit in a chair across from him.

"Thank you for allowing me to come here," she says warmly after sitting down.

Stefan watches her, trying to read the emotion from her face. Trying to see the true nature of her intentions, in case she's here to stand for something else, something different than she made him believe.

"We assure you the pleasure is all ours," Damon answers in his name, and Stefan has to bite his tongue to hold off a laugh.

Princess looks at him a little surprised, but then a conniving smile appears on her lips, a mirror image to Damon's smirk, and Stefan is amazed by how much they resemble.

Finally, when he can't hold it in anymore, he chuckles, "You'll have to excuse my brother. I'm afraid he forgot his manners," he looks up at Damon's face, only to see his eyes locked on the Princess, taking her all in.

She moves her look from Damon to Stefan, her smirk being replaced by a warm smile, "That's quite alright," she says politely.

"So," Stefan joins his palms in a loud clap, "You said in your letter that there are things you wanted to discuss."

She wiggles her lips as if she's preparing herself to speak. "Ah yes," her eyes light up, "The war," she says in disgust, like she's trying to point out how inconvenient it is, "You men, you always have to destroy things."

As a fan of destroying things, Damon feels obligated to speak up. "Well, we aren't the ones who started the war," but no matter how serious, or offended, he tries to be, a smirk is always present on his face.

Princess shifts her attention to him only for a second, before bringing it back to Stefan. "My father is operating on revenge," she says disappointingly, "He very well knew he has no real motive, and no needs to win this war, but he went along with it anyway. Because of revenge, because of his pride. And now he's on the verge of losing everything."

"Your point?" Stefan asks impatiently.

"My point is that my father is blinded by rage. He wants to go through with this even though he knows he will most likely lose. I do not want this war, and for some reason you don't want it either. That's why I'm here, am I correct?" she hums curiously, as if she's asking herself what his reasons might be for not wanting to go to war which is a sure win.

Stefan and Damon share a look before Damon answers for both of them, "That's correct."

"So, you have two options, as far as I see. You can surrender - "

"Absolutely not!" Damon shrieks horrified, interrupting her in the middle of her sentence.

She doesn't seem to care, though. She just glares at him, her eyes dancing on his figure, smirking, "And lose nothing, but still give my father what he wants. A sense of victory. It's very generous, I know, but everyone will know you did it out of pity."

"And my second option?" Stefan asks, already dismissing the first one.

She stills her eyes on him. She finds him very handsome. They resemble each other as well, both soft creatures with light tan and angelic hair with eyes made out of grass. They would have beautiful children. They're both young, she's barely of age and he's only couple of years older, and there's no doubt they would produce an heir instantly.

The thing is, she's not sure she wants to be a Queen. Not unless she must, not unless the situation demands that from her.

A situation like this.

"Marriage," she says coldly.

Both brothers stay silent for a while.

"I thought we made it clear that marriage is off the table," Stefan brushes her words off.

"Do I repulse you so much, my Lord," she fakes pain and discomfort.

Damon smirks, and his smile tells Stefan exactly what Damon is thinking - _she's good._

"Quite contrary, I find you very beautiful," Stefan says, "But I'm still not interested."

"Then we're in a bit of a pickle here, I'm afraid," she giggles.

Stefan chuckles. "I believe you're tired from your trip. We will continue this conversation tomorrow," he stands to leave.

Princess stands with him, bowing to him. He nods at her politely before leaving the room. Damon follows him in a stop, his look lingering on the Princess for a moment too long.

She can't let her father go to battle. He will lose. He will lose the throne and his life and the whole country as they know it will seize to exist.

Maybe she doesn't want to be a Queen, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want to win.

If everything goes as she plans, there will be no need for a conversation tomorrow.

She has other plans. She can use her charms better than she can use her words.

* * *

_**AN: Uhoh, what is this plan the Princess has?**_


	23. Chapter 23

"You can at least try to act like a human being in front of strangers," Stefan smirks in Damon's direction when they leave the room.

Damon turns to look at him, faking shock. "Whatever do you mean, brother?" he barely suppresses his own smirk.

"You were looking at her like she's prey, and you're a starving animal," Stefan releases a low chuckle, wondering how come Damon is never ashamed of his behavior. Elena is probably the only female he would jump on so she doesn't leave, but it seems like Damon doesn't want anyone to leave. He's jumping on everyone. "I'm surprised she didn't get scared and run off."

"Ah," Damon exhales satisfyingly, "That's the beauty of it."

Stefan cocks his eyebrow in Damon's direction, his expression full of curiosity. "Meaning?" he asks.

"I'm not interested in chasing anyone," he shrugs. He's not the type. The more you run after someone, the more disappointments you meet along the way. You get tired and no one can guarantee you it will be worth it. Plus, he has so much more respect for those who stay and fight, than for those who run, even if it's for the thrill. "Despite my comments and my.." he stops to think for a moment, "Inappropriate behavior," he grins to himself, "She didn't even budge. She stayed sitting there, all serious."

After few moments of silence Stefan adds. "Unless when she was smirking."

"And what a smirk it was," Damon smiles at the memory of it, "All tainted and seductive, but mixed with that look in her eyes that you have a feeling she could hurt you more than any sword. You gotta admire than in a woman."

People can hurt you more than swords, Stefan thinks to himself, but decides not to share the thought with Damon.

"I like her," Damon shares, like he's only now coming with the terms of that.

"You like many women, Damon," Stefan brushes his words off.

"This one is different."

"How different?" Stefan whips his head in Damon's direction rapidly, suddenly interested in what he's about to say.

"I like her hair," Damon shrugs, "It looks like she has a halo around her head. Her eyes remind me of mothers," he adds, after which both of them stay silent for few minutes, walking down the hall, towards their chambers, "Her skin seems silky. And her cheeks look like she swallowed two big, bright red apples."

Stefan knows this is the most he has ever gotten out of Damon, so he decides not to ask any more questions. He just says, "She does sound different."

* * *

When Stefan comes to his room, he finds Elena sitting on a sofa, frowning at a book. Since she learned how to read successfully, she keeps picking up one book after another, like she fears they will run away from her if she doesn't read them fast enough. Sometimes he thinks that's all she does when she's not with him - she's taking in words, making them her own, because after all this time, she still says things that surprise him, and he wonders are those words her own or did she borrow them from someone else.

"Something wrong?" he asks, amused by the look on her face.

She drops the book on the sofa beside her and closes it, her eyes falling on his, taking him in. She can't fight the smile that forces its way to her face. Her hands falls on a small, barely visible, if you don't know it's there you can't even see it baby bump, and his look instinctively follows the motion of her hand. "I wanted to read something to the baby," the frown runs away from her face, "But all the books we own are inappropriate," she exhales in disappointment.

He releases a low chuckle. "You wanted to read to the baby?"

She's pregnant for a little more than a month. Two, at most. He's not even sure the baby has ears yet, or that it can understand the meaning behind the words written in a book.

"Yes," Elena nods, pulling her fingers up and down, his look following her fingers, "My mother always said it's good to speak to the baby so it gets used to your voice."

He sits on the sofa next to her, pressing his lips gently on hers. "You don't have to read, though. Tell the baby one of your stories."

She pouts. "But I don't know any of the stories," which is true. The ones her mother told her when she was young she doesn't remember anymore.

He smiles at how cute that pout looks on her face. "Of course you do," he moves few strands of hair from her cheeks, pulling his fingertips over her colored cheeks, "You know the story of how we met."

She crinkles her nose. "I do not think that story is adequate, either," she says when she remembers all of the unpleasant details.

He nods in understanding, "We can soften it a little bit," he smiles, "Turn it into a fairytale."

She likes that idea, so they come up with a story.

They tell the baby the story about a girl who fell in love with a boy sooner than she was ready to admit, and about a boy who fell in love with a girl even before he met her.

They talk for hours, making the hard times seem little less hard but easy times equally enjoyable. They talk about love, using the most powerful words their brains can grasp at the moment.

They agree that the story has no real ending, except _and they lived happily ever after._

The bright sun which still doesn't heat the ground, but stands in the sky for decoration, gets replaced by the moon, and stars get scattered around it. Bedtime comes sooner than they hoped for, and she asks him to fetch her a cup of tea.

* * *

When she thinks it's late enough for everyone to be in their chambers, Princess peeks her head out in the hallway to make sure there's no one out there. She can hear guards murmuring on the other side of the hallway, in the direction opposite of where she needs to go.

The King's room is in a separate wing, far away from the guest rooms where she's staying. She takes off her shoes so she doesn't make any sound while walking. The concrete under her bare feet is cold and prickly.

She's still in the dress in which she arrived, so she takes it between her fingertips and lifts it off of the floor so she can walk without the dress dragging itself behind her feet.

She heads down the hall. She stays in light when she's sure no one is near, and hides in shadows when she hears voices nearby. Guards are patrolling the hallways.

It takes her few minutes to finally reach the King's wing. She peeks around the corner and sees the guard walking in other direction. She waits for him to completely disappear to enter the hallway, and finally, the King's bedroom.

She tip toes to the room, and inhales deeply before pulling her fingers on the handle and twisting it around. The door creeks silently when she pushes them open, only enough for her to slide inside.

She looks around the room. It's simple, half empty, almost a replica of the room she's staying in, just much bigger. The only difference is that his room holds a piano, several shelves full of books and a scared girl staring at her, her eyes wide and full of shock.

"Who are you?" the Princess asks, almost sounding bitterly.

Elena's throat tightens when she speaks. "Who are you?" she asks the exact same words as the Princess, her fingers gripping on the handle of her hairbrush. She was standing in front of a mirror, in nothing but her nightgown, brushing her hair when this strange woman came into their room.

Neither of them answers the other ones question.

Princess knows she's the one that doesn't belong here, so she straightens herself and clears her throat. "Where is the King?"

Elena stammers, still in shock. "He went to get me tea," she doesn't know why she's being honest with this woman she doesn't know. "Who are you?" she asks again, this time more sternly.

Princess knows she can get away with this. This girl apparently doesn't know who she is, she can lie and slip out of the room, go back to her own, and pretend nothing ever happened. But if she does that her whole plan shatters and she leaves empty handed. She lets go of her luxurious dress and presses her palms on it, making the wrinkles disappear, "I am the Princess of France," she doesn't ask the girl for her identity, she knows she's in no position to ask such a thing.

Maybe she's a whore.

But whores do not wear nightgowns and get tea from the King, and they do not look as delicate as the girl standing in front of her.

Plus, she very well heard that this King doesn't spend his nights with whores. Or any other part of the day.

There are million of questions inside of Elena's head, making her dizzy. She has to sit down, but she doesn't dare to move. "And what are you doing here?" her voice becomes more strict, angrier.

The Princess smirks. Maybe she knows Elena is afraid, or suspicious, or jealous. She knows breaking her could be so easy. "Well, I was hoping the King is gone to be here. Alone," she emphasizes the last word, her smirk deepening.

Elena swallows hard, her eyes darting away from the Princess' figure. "Did he ask you to come?" she asks shyly. She curses herself for asking that question as soon as the words leave her mouth.

Princess grins this time, thinking how easy this is going to be, too easy, when the door open and Stefan steps inside of the room before she gets to say a word.

His smile falters when he sees Princess standing in his room, Elena's eyes fixed on some point on the wall next to her. His hand shakes a little, tea spilling out of the cup.

"What's going on?" he asks sternly, his voice jumping a little.

Elena looks at him with a look full of fear and disbelief and anger and sadness.

He doesn't want her to look at him like that ever again. It shatters his bones and turns them into dust.

He looks at the Princess who is pressing her lips together.

After few moments of silence she says, "Well, at least now I understand why marriage is out of question."

Stefan walks around her and puts Elena's tea cup on the table. He looks at Elena one more time, and this time, her look is softer.

"You didn't ask her to come here?" Elena asks, guilt falling on her with such force that she barely keeps standing on her feet.

"What?" Stefan frowns, his eyebrows coming together so close that they're almost touching, "No!" he raises his voice a little, "Of course not."

Princess releases a low chuckle. "She seems to have some trust issues."

Elena bows her head shyly, and Stefan's jaw stiffens.

"What are you doing here?" he spits those words out, and his tone makes the Princess cringe.

"You refused both of my offers, I really had no other choice," she crosses her arms over her chest defensively.

Stefan crinkles his nose. "No other choice than what?" he asks confused.

Elena exhales tiredly. "Than to seduce you," her voice is casual and calm.

Princess looks in other direction, her cheeks becoming redder with every passing second. "This would be so much easier if your brother were the King."

Corners of Stefan's lips fly into a soft, knowing smile. "I promised you we will talk tomorrow."

She brings her eyes back to him, and now they're full of tears which keep grouping in the corners of her bright, green marbles. "I can't let him continue this madness, he will destroy the whole country!" she cries out.

Elena walks closer to Stefan and her fingertips brush his arm. She intertwines her fingers with his for support. He looks down at them an exhales. "I know," he feels sympathetic towards her. He knows how it is to have a crazy father whom you want to save from himself. "I understand," he nods, his grip on Elena's hand tightening, "We will talk tomorrow. This is no time nor the place."

She keeps staring at him for few minutes before she nods, trying to keep her tears inside.

"Do you need someone to escort you back to your room?" he asks.

She shakes her head no. She takes her dress between her fingertips and raises it above the ground.

Elena gasps. "Oh," she says silently before walking over to the bed and lowering herself down to reach something, "Your feet must be freezing."

Princess almost forgot she came here barefoot. Elena walks over to her and stretches out her hand, "Take my slippers," she gives her a pair of woolen slippers.

"I can't," she says, almost offended by her kindness.

"Nonsense," Elena practically pushes the slippers in Princess' hands, "It's not healthy for young women to walk around barefoot on cold concrete."

They stare at each other for few seconds. Finally, Princess caves in, nods, and puts the slippers on. "You know," she says as she turns around to leave, "You should get married before you start showing," she says over her shoulder.

Elena exhales in surprise. "How did you know?"

"You have a tiny frame," Elena looks down her body to see a small, round bump standing visible pressed next to her tight nightgown. "And I'm not blind," is the last thing the Princess says before she leaves the room.

* * *

_**AN: A lot of you have been wondering who the Princess is, but she is no one from the show. I just brought here in to cause some drama.**_

_**Oh, and a warning, only few more chapters left!**_


	24. Chapter 24

"She seems nice," Elena concludes when the Princess disappears behind their bedroom door, into a cold, half lit hallway.

An evident frown crawls upon Stefan's face. "Nice?" he asks surprised, even a little bit shocked, "She came here to seduce me and all you have to say about her is that she's nice?" he cocks his eyebrow in the direction of Elena's amused face.

A light smile crosses her lips as she makes few steps towards him. She takes his hands into hers and intertwines their fingers, pulling their bodies closer to each other. She plants a small peck on his lips, enough to make him yearn for more, before she hums, "You have to look at the bigger picture, Stefan," she looks at him dreamily.

He furrows his brows, bringing them closer together and making a small triangle of clear skin between them, "And what is the bigger picture?" he leans for another kiss, but she lets go off one of his hands and puts a finger between their lips, waving him no.

She likes teasing him, and he knows that. He lets her, but that doesn't mean he likes being teased. That means he loves her.

"Imagine how hard for her this must be," Elena starts explaining, catching Stefan's attention, "She's a 17 year old girl trying to save the whole country from her own father because he can't think rationally. She's far away from home," Elena inhales deeply, catching her breath which started disappearing slowly when she started talking, "Most likely she was never with a man before, and yet she was willing to come to you with that purpose because it's her last option."

Stefan ponders on her words for few moments. "So what do you propose I do tomorrow?" he asks her for advice because that's something he's been thinking about a lot, but couldn't come up with a solution that would satisfy them both.

He can hear her soft, long breaths. "Do everything you can to help her," the hand she used to block his lips from hers goes back down to find his, "I'm not saying that you should give her whatever she wants, but find a way to satisfy both of your needs."

That's exactly what he's been trying to do, but with no luck. He exhales. He's too tired, and it's too late to think about it now. He will continue pondering on the idea when he wakes up tomorrow morning, hopefully with a bunch of fresh thoughts.

He groans. "You're too smart for your own good," the corners of his lips curve into a smile, "Hell, you're too smart for my own good."

Elena smiles back at him. "You have to live with your choices," she teases him, her lips hovering over his.

"I like my choices," he says before kissing her.

He came to realize her lips taste different during the night than they do during the day. Her whole body reacts to him differently.

In the morning she tastes like sunshine and laughter and wind, and during the night she tastes like fire, her lips burning his body wherever they fall. He is completely hers. She is branding him with her lips, telling the whole world that he belongs to her.

"We should marry before all of this is over," is the first thing he says after his lips leave hers.

"Stefan," she says his name cautiously, taking her look away from his.

"Elena, this is not just about keeping you safe," he tries to make her take her eyes back on his, "You're showing," he looks down her body where a little, bulging circle is visible under her nightgown, "People will start talking. Usually I don't mind the rumors, but if I hear someone talking badly about you or our baby.." when he looks up from her bump, he catches her eyes already intently watching his face. "We can marry in secret so they don't know you got pregnant before we were married."

She squints. "Are you ashamed?" she whispers like she knows asking this question is a bad idea.

He frowns, "Ashamed?" he asks confusedly.

"Yes," her voice is still silent and soft, running up her throat like silk which wants to be held down, "Of what we did, of how this baby was conceived. Before marriage."

He lets go off her hands and his hands move to her hips, his fingers squeezing her flesh and pulling her closer to him. "Elena," he exhales her name, then inhales the air rapidly, like he wants her name back inside of him, "I will never be ashamed of anything that has to do with us. But others might frown upon it, and I don't want anyone's words to make you think what we did is bad, or that I regret it, so please, marry me now. Soon."

He holds her look with his, and after few moments of hesitation she replies, simply, "Okay."

"Okay?" he asks, surprised she accepted so easily, without further convincing.

"Yes," a smile dances on her tiny lips, "I will marry you today, tomorrow, next week or whenever you want me to."

Her head falls on his chest, and he lowers his lips, kissing her scalp.

"Will you be disappointed if it's a girl?" she asks in a hushed tone of voice.

"Of course not," his voice murmurs against her head, flowing down her hair, tickling her skin, "We're going to have a whole bunch of boys and girls and I'm going to love each and every one of them all the same."

"A bunch?" she smiles, her lips pressed against his shirt.

"A whole army," he returns the smile and it raptures through the air. People who say you can't see by hearing are wrong. "My mother couldn't have more children," he admits, and she peels her head from his chest to look at him, "I mean, she was physically able, but she would either lose the baby in the very beginning, or it would be born dead," he looks down at her, "Some died few days after they've been born. After few years," he exhales sadly, "It had emotionally exhaust her, watching her children die."

His words almost bring tears to her eyes. She can't imagine going through that. She can't imagine watching her children die, or carrying them for months only for them to die without taking even one breath.

"Why do these things happen?" her voice turns sharp so she can hide tears in the back of her throat.

He pulls her body even closer to his, like he's trying to make her melt into him. "They're too weak, or they get sick," he frowns, but there's a sad, shattering look in his eyes, "It's unfair."

She nods. "Unfair," the word escapes her lips in the form of a whisper.

"I always thought having more siblings would be fun, though," he wraps his arms around her to keep her warm, "I want a big family."

Her fear leaves her as she imagines them surrounded by children, each one of them having something in common with both of their parents and she says, this time loud enough for him to hear clearly, "Me too."

* * *

In the morning Stefan finds Damon to discuss some things with him, and when they both agree on the terms Stefan sends his brother for the Princess and tells him to meet him in his study. When Stefan arrives there fifteen minutes later, Princess is already sitting there, with Damon leaning against a window frame. Stefan takes a chair on the other side of the table, opposite her.

No one says a word for several minutes, when Princess finally speaks, "Who is she?"

Stefan leans into his chair, thinking about his answer. "Someone I love very much," he decides to say.

Princess parts her lips. "Love," she says dreamily. Her eyes shimmer upon saying that word. "It's such a rare thing, isn't it?" all of a sudden her voice becomes soft, "To actually fall in love with someone. It's funny how men can't reign until they're of age, but women are promised to others even before they're born," she hums amused, like this is her new, shiny discovery. "My father never loved my mother," she says sadly but never tears her look away from Stefan's. He doubts his father ever loved his mother either. If he did, he had a funny way of showing it. "When she died, he didn't even cry. He said men don't cry. But I think he's the only man in the country who didn't cry when my mother died," she speaks warmly, but there are tears making her throat contract. "If the woman you love died, Your Grace," she sniffles, "Would you cry?"

The thought of Elena dying is the most unpleasant thing he can imagine. "I would never stop," he answers honestly.

His answer brings a smile to her face. "She's not royal, though, is she?" an amused look appears on her face, coloring her cheeks, "If she was, I would know. There would be stories."

After few moments of hesitation Stefan says, "No, she's not royal," he emphasizes it by shaking his head.

"Who is she then?" curiosity washes over her face.

Stefan watches her intently before answering calmly, "She's mine."

Princess smirks satisfyingly, like she got everything she needs. As if he told her every detail of Elena's history.

"We have a proposition for you," he decides to cut to the business, looking at Damon with the corner of his eye.

"Yes?" her throat is dry, and her eyes nervous.

"We can't give you what you've asked for," he says as if he's truly sorry for making things harder for her, "But we can propose something else."

She doesn't seem thrilled, but she welcomes the idea. "What is it?" she asks nervously.

It takes few moments for Stefan to answer. "You marry my brother."

Her eyes go wide with shock, they keep flickering between Stefan and Damon, but both of their faces are unreadable.

This morning, when Stefan came up with the idea, he proposed it to Damon who accepted it after some time of pondering over it. He thought he will never marry.

He never thought he will find a woman worth marrying.

"But I'm a Princess!" she shrieks, "That would be downgrading!"

Stefan furrows his brows. "You want to be a Queen so desperately?" he asks because many girls don't. It's a lot of responsibility, and not so much luxury as others might think.

Her eyes shimmer under the bright, morning sun. She leans into the chair, folding her hands in her lap. "I don't want to be a Queen at all," her whole body shivers.

Stefan and Damon exchange confused looks.

"But I don't want to marry out of need, either," she admits.

Stefan smiles gently, thinking how he understands the problem. "You want love?"

She nods, tears grouping in the corners of her eyes.

"You and my brother seem very much alike," he comments, "I think you would get along great," he admits, and Princess' eyes flicker to Damon.

He knows that because there are not many women Damon would agree to marry. There's just one, and she's sitting across them.

"My brother is a Duke, which would make you a Duchess, which is an honorable position," he continues speaking with a serious tone of voice, "But the decision is yours. No one is making you do anything. We can give you time to think about it, to.." he wants to say fall in love but he also knows he can't promise her that will happen, "Well, you know," he coughs.

She shifts her attention to Damon. "And you agreed to it? To maintain peace?" she asks sternly.

She catches him by surprise so it takes him few seconds to straighten himself. Damon thrown by a girl? Stefan never thought he will witness that.

"I agreed to it for more than to just maintain peace," he admits, his voice unusually warm.

His answer gets him a small smile from the Princess.

She looks back at Stefan, her voice serious, "I'll have to talk to my father over it."

* * *

When Stefan goes back to his chambers, Elena is there, walking across the room nervously, waiting for him.

Her eyes go wide when she hears him coming in the room. "And?" she asks, hurrying to meet him.

"She's going home as we speak. We made our proposition, but unfortunately, it's not her decision. She has to talk over it with her father," he says, hoping King of France is wise enough to take the deal. He also hopes Princess decides to give it a shot.

Elena frowns. "You never told me what the proposition is," she whines a little.

Stefan smiles at the tone of her voice and a little frown between her brows, "She marries Damon."

Elena's eyes go wide with shock almost as the Princess' did. "Your brother agreed to marry someone to maintain peace?" she asks in disbelief.

Stefan chuckles at her surprise. He was surprised himself, with how easily Damon agreed to it. "He's not doing it just to maintain peace," he looks at her intently, trying to send her a message with the look in his eyes.

Elena grips his hands with her fingers, "Really?" she asks joyfully.

Stefan nods, confused by her joy. "It seems they're cut out of the same cloth. What are you so happy about?" he furrows his brows in confusion.

"Oh!" she exhales happily, "It's so amazing when people find love," she paints a smile across her lips, "I always thought he will marry Miss Forbes, though," she admits.

"Caroline will marry one of my cousins when she comes of age," he shares a new detail with her.

Surprise flickers in her eyes. "Does she know it?"

"Yes!" Stefan laughs, "Do you think I would marry her off to someone she doesn't want to get married to?"

"No," Elena shakes her head, even though she finds it strange how Caroline never mentioned it. "What do we do now?" she refers to the Princess' situation.

Stefan exhales tiredly. "Now we wait."


	25. Chapter 25

They get married in secret the day after the Princess leaves the Court, with Caroline and Damon as their only witnesses.

Caroline's biggest concern was the proper dress, and since it was too late to have one made, she was able to convince Elena to borrow one of hers. Caroline is a little bit taller than she is so it was hard to find a dress which fits properly. It was especially hard to squeeze into it because of her bump, which is barely visible, but Caroline's dresses are all so tight.

She did it to please Caroline, anyway. She didn't care in which dress she gets married, that was the last thing on her mind, since her thoughts were pretty much an explosion of _I can't believe this is finally happening_.

The ceremony is in Latin, and she doesn't understand half of the words that come out of the priests mouth. She only knows when to say a bunch of words that mean nothing to her, but they're a part of the procedure.

When the priest finishes, their lips meet for only a second, and not a moment longer.

She concludes that she doesn't feel all that much different, being his wife. Maybe because she was always his and this is just one more unnecessary title in line.

They eat dinner and no one understands Caroline's excitement, and she knows she can't say a word about it, so she says it's just one of those days when she's feeling extra happy. Elena smiles at her excitement.

Stefan and Damon engage in a serious discussion, their voices so silent that the only thing the rest of the table can hear is a murmur of whispers. They're probably discussing their options if King of France doesn't accept their offer, or if Princess disregards it and decides not to even mention it to her father. The offer was for her, after all, not him.

Elena feels lonely without him, but she knows they must act as if nothing happened. As if they didn't just get married an hour ago.

She wishes her mother was able to see her, to be with her. She wants to show her how strong she's been. Not when she decided that she doesn't care if she lives or dies, but when she decided she wants to live. Her mother never believed in revenge, she believed that eventually people always get what's coming to them. Their actions, malicious deeds, life comes to collect for those eventually. And sometimes it takes triple. Her mother would have never wanted her to do what she was ready to do. She wouldn't want her to crawl to the level Stefan's father did. Him dying before she got to him was probably life's way of telling her that. That she's better than punishing one evil deed with another.

Life lead her here for so many reasons. So she would see the wrongness of what she was ready to do. So she would find a home in a boy she was supposed to detest. To learn that children are not responsible for their parents actions and that you can't tell a lot about someones life looking from the outside in.

Ultimately, life lead her here because this is where she belongs.

Thinking about her mother fills her eyes with tears. She's going to have a baby and her mother won't be here to guide her through it. But she has learned so much from her during the time they got to spend together. She knows everything there is to know, her mother made sure of that. She just regrets she's not here, able to see her now, all grown up, in dresses she used to sew for rich ladies, in love, with a man whose heart is so big that it runs through his veins.

"Are you okay?" Caroline scoots closer to her when she notices tears in her eyes. Elena notices that the rest of the table is engaging into a conversation and that she was probably distant for a while, buried in her own thoughts.

She closes her eyes to wipe the tears away, like she's willing them to go back in. "Yes, I'm fine," Elena says gently through a whisper, a small smile of reassurance decorating her lips, "I'm just a little overwhelmed, I think."

Caroline seems to take this as a legit answer, because she nods understandingly, "That's completely understandable, I can't imagine getting married, my whole life changing, then pretending nothing is different," she squeals a little bit too loudly, but no one seems to notice, "I'm sorry!" she squeezes through her teeth, "I'm probably not making it any easier for you."

Elena's smile extends few inches. "Things aren't all that different," she glances at Stefan who is still discussing something with Damon, a small frown resting on his forehead, "We've been living like we're married for quite some time," she has to fight the urge to lower her hands on her stomach, out of fear someone will notice her bump on a tight dress she's wearing.

Caroline chuckles, her cheeks adapting the color of wine, "That's correct."

"Speaking of marriage," Elena cocks her eyebrow at Caroline, "How come you didn't tell me you're already promised to a man?" she keeps her voice silent in case this is a secret no one is let in.

Caroline blushes some more, muttering under her breath, "Yes, I am."

Elena tries to catch her look, but she lowers her head down, shielding herself from Elena's eyes.

"Are you not satisfied with the choice? Because I was under impression you welcome it."

Caroline raises her look rapidly, whipping her head towards Elena. "Oh no!" she says defensively, "I like Mr. Nathaniel very, very much, we've know each other for years. It' just.." she hesitates for few seconds, her lower lip quivering, "I'm afraid."

Elena releases a silent gasp. "Of what?"

"Of everything!" Caroline answers readily, "Leaving this place, going to live somewhere else. I'll have to leave my sister here," her voice becomes teary, but no tears make an appearance on her face, or in her eyes, "I know Stefan will take care of her, but I'll miss her so incredibly much. I'll miss everyone. I just hate the unknown. I'm comfortable here."

Elena can understand that. She would never want to leave this place either, especially if she grew up here. She doesn't want to leave it now and she very well knows how the building and the people can grow on you. But that's how it is, you grow up, you leave the only home you knew. She had to leave it long before she was ready to grow up. Elena nods, taking Caroline's hand into hers. "Listen to me," she squeezes Caroline's hand in her own, "I know that leaving is hard. I left everything behind as well. I had to, there was nothing for me there anymore. You're never going to leave this place, though. You're always going to have your place here," she smiles warmly at her friend, "You may live somewhere else, and let me tell you something, when you find love, you won't regret it one bit. But you will be able to visit whenever you want to. Quite contrary," her voice becomes less tense and more cheerful, "I expect you to."

Caroline's smile goes so wide that the corners of her lips almost crack. She squeezes Elena's hands back, thanking her for her support.

"I never thought we would ever see Damon getting married, though," she adds, her eyes floating in Damon's direction.

"I still can't tell what's going on in his head," Elena crinkles her nose, irritated by not being able to read Damon.

Caroline shifts her attention back to Elena. "No one can," she raises her eyebrow to emphasize her point.

"Stefan says he's not doing it just to maintain peace."

Caroline looks amused by this. "I know," she exhales, "He would never sink so low. I just never thought there's a girl powerful enough to tame him, either."

Elena hums. "I guess only time will tell."

Her stomach growls, begging for more food.

"I'm so hungry," Elena whines, poking a potato with her fork, "I'm worried about the amount of food I consume daily. If I continue like this, I'll explode."

Caroline chuckles, playing with the food on her plate. "I remember when my mother was carrying my sister. She used to say that no matter how much she eats, she's never feels full," her eyes become dreamy as the memory washes over her.

"Uh," Elena says, scared she will feel the same way.

"Do you think it's a boy or a girl?" Caroline asks, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Elena's lips curve into a smile, the urge for her hands to come in contact with her stomach becoming to strong, so she allows herself to lower her hands for a fleeting moment. "I do not know. I do know that Kings usually want their firstborn to be a male, but I don't think Stefan cares either. He says this is one out of many."

"You're going to have such beautiful children," Caroline squeals excitedly.

Elena smiles in return, because she thinks so too.

* * *

After dinner, Stefan and Elena make their way to their chambers. She doesn't feel out of place there anymore. She doesn't feel like she should go back to her own room, or sneak out before the sun rises. This is her room now as well. This is their room.

He opens the door for her, allowing her an easy access. Caroline's dress, which is too long for her, drags behind her. She has to walk carefully so she doesn't step on it, because she would surely stumble and fall.

When she enters the room, a gasp gets stuck in her lungs. A weird, squealing sound escapes her lips, making her sound like a wounded animal.

There are candles all over the room. Big candles, the ones that reach to her hips, are placed on the floor. Smaller ones are on tables and the top of the piano and the dresser. Tiny ones are surrounding the bed from the safe proximity of the sheets.

The whole room is lit. There are streams of darkness between the candles, the spots which light wasn't able to cover. The room looks like all the stars fell from the sky right into it. Or maybe they floated up, to the sky, when she wasn't paying attention.

There are flowers, mostly roses, in big and small vases all around the room, filling it with earthy smell.

She turns to him with a surprised look in her eyes, her lips parted slightly in awe. "Did you do all this?" she barely straightens herself enough for those words to leave her mouth.

He nods affirmatively, a smile creeping up his lips, pulling their corners _up up up_ until they touch the clouds. "Well, I asked Caroline for help," he admits, his cheeks blushing. She's trying to guess is it because of the heat in the room, or because his shyness got the best of him.

That explains why Caroline was so excited, she knew there's a surprise waiting for Elena in their room.

Elena walks towards Stefan, standing so close to him that she can feel his heartbeat in every inch of her body. She pushes the door closed with the tips of her fingers, and slowly, they slip into their rightful position. She lowers her lips on his, giving him a small peck, before murmuring into them, "It's beautiful."

Her breath smells like ginger juice and baked potatoes and the scent of early Spring which gets carried in the wind.

He puts his hands on her hips and pulls her even closer to him, so close that she feels like her body is melting right into his. Maybe that's how it should be. Maybe she should melt into him so she can exist only while he exists.

His fingers dug deeper into her flesh, until the point when pain becomes pleasurable.

"How does being my wife feels like?" he asks curiously, nuzzling his nose against hers.

"Hmm," she hums against his lips, the tip of her nose still touching his, "Not all that different."

"Oh?" he frowns, his clear forehead getting attacked by a pile of wrinkles.

"Don't frown," she chuckles before throwing her arms around his neck, her fingers playing with the ends of his hair on the back of his neck, "I just mean that I felt like your wife long time before I became one," her eyes shimmer in the dark, under candlelight.

There are no more stars in the room, they all moved into her eyes.

A mischievous smile decorates his lips. "Maybe I should make you feel like my wife, then," his fingers travel up her body, her breath sipping through her skin into his fingertips. Her lungs are empty but somehow she manages to keep breathing. When his fingers reach her shoulders, he removes the light cotton from the right shoulder and kisses her skin gently. "Or better yet, my Queen."

He removes the dress from her other shoulder as well, and plants a kiss there, tasting her skin. She tastes like milk mixed with sugar.

She tastes differently every time he kisses her. Or maybe she always tastes the same and he just can't make up his mind how.

When he moves to her neck, she throws her head backwards a little. "I'm not a Queen yet," the coronation still has to take place.

"You were a Queen since the day you were born," he murmurs into her skin. Stefan is a great believer in destiny, just like her mother was. Since meeting him, she became one too.

Maybe some things really are written in the stars. When it comes to certain situations, no matter which road you take, you will always end up at the same destination. The only thing that's different is how you come there.

The dress starts _falling falling falling_, there are no more sleeves on her arms, cold air is washing over her sensitive skin, but his touch takes the coldness away. He is so warm, it's like he's holding fire in his hands, lava is sipping off of his fingertips, and he makes her warm as well, just by standing next to her.

His lips start going lower and somehow they end up between her bosom. She releases a silent moan, her fingers still playing with his hair. She finds herself pressing his head closer to her body.

Until she becomes hungry for his lips. She feels like she's going to die if she doesn't taste him.

So she makes him lift his head up and before he gets a chance to react, her lips crash against his. If he was fragile, she would break him with the ferocity she lowers herself on him. He stumbles back a little, but regains his composure quickly, willingly parting his lips, allowing her entrance.

He's clinging onto her and she's clinging onto him and both of them are refusing to let go. He pushes her a little, making her walk backwards, until she hits the bed with her legs.

His lungs beg for air, he wasn't prepared for such a long and ferocious kiss, so he detaches his lips from her. She growls in protest, trying to keep herself glued to him.

Sometimes she thinks he's not aware of how much she actually needs him.

She's become addicted to him, he's her favorite poison, her vice. He's running through her veins, he's in her blood and in her body, he settled himself in the core of her being and she can feel him inside of herself, he's always present, always there, reminding her that love hurts and that love heals and that without love, there's no life, at least not one worth living.

Her dress gets stuck on her hips, and he pushes it forcefully down, leaving her just in her undergarments.

She pushes his jacket off of his shoulders and he allows it to fall on the ground behind him. She untucks his shirt out of his pants while the jacket is still in mid air.

He calms her arms by wrapping his fingers around them. She looks at him confused, but she lets go off his shirt and stills her hands. He lets go off them once he's convinced she's still by her own. His fingers travel from her shoulders, over her collar bones, all the way over her bosom which are covered under her undergarments. He slips his hands under the silky undershirt and his fingers scrape her skin, making her moan silently, through a whisper, which gets lost before it reaches his ears. His touch is so gentle on her skin it almost melts her.

Almost makes her leave her body.

His fingers brush over her bump, tiny bulge on her body you can barely notice. It looks like she swallowed a perfectly shaped rock.

His fingers go back up, and he places him thumb against her lower lip. He locks his eyes on hers. Light of one of the candles nearby falls on his face perfectly, revealing every line of it. His soft skin, highlighted cheekbones, strong jaw, kissable lips, and most of all, his green eyes, as lucky as a four leaf clover even when they're full of tears.

"Are you real?" he parts his lips and a whisper crawls out of his mouth.

He surprises her with his question.

He lowers her on the bed, placing himself on top of her.

He removes few strains of hair which got stuck on her face, his fingers caressing her cheeks. "How can someone so beautiful be real?" he asks gently, even though he doesn't expect her to answer.

Her cheeks turn red, their color barely visible on her slightly dark skin. She looks like she has healthy tan, the one you can find on women in the middle of the Summer.

She still blushes whenever he compliments her. But now when he tells her she's beautiful, she believes him. Because to her, he's the most beautiful man in the world, so he must see her exactly the same as well.

"I ask myself the same question everyday," she says, her eyes still locked on his.

She's as beautiful as your favorite item in your possession. Remember how much you admired it when you got it? How you thought that nothing in the world can compare to its beauty, and how you'll never find something as, or more, beautiful? And then you got used to it's beauty. You didn't have to admire it everyday because when someone mentioned beauty, that item is the first thing that pops into your mind. It becomes a well know fact, what you find beautiful.

And then, one day, after not thinking about its beauty for quite some time, you look at it and it's like you're seeing it for the first time.

It's the same with people.

Some people are so beautiful that your eyes get used to them after some time. At first, you're in awe, but after looking at them for quite some time, that beauty becomes everyday. It becomes a part of your life.

But every now and then you see them in a new light. The girl you know becomes your wife and your wife becomes the mother of your children and each version of her is more beautiful than the one before, until all of them mash into one person.

Some people are more beautiful than other people, but when you fall in love, it's not about the general definition of beauty. When you fall in love, the inside of a person gets mashed up with the outside, and your life turns into a masterpiece.

"I want to enjoy these moments," he kisses her lips lightly.

"I want our whole life to be like this moment," she says, pulling him on top of her, wanting to feel him closer, wanting to feel him there, "Promise me," she whispers into his ear, "That no matter what, our life together will be one moment."

Because one moment is enough for the big things to happen.

It takes one moment to fall in love, the rest of it is you gathering courage to admit to yourself that you're indeed in love. It takes one moment to learn how to walk, or to kiss someone, or to have a baby.

The rest of it, the rest of time you spend walking, kissing, giving birth to a child, is a preparation for your life to change. Life gives you time to adjust, to pain and misery and happiness and unbelievable amount of pleasure.

It takes one moment for your life to turn outside down, one kiss, one word, one touch.

Just one.

"Even when we stumble on problems," she continues, "Even when these halls become filled with our children and we forget to say that we love each other. Promise you will always want me."

That's one promise he has no trouble keeping because it's one he knows he can keep. "I will always want you," he says, sure in his words.

That's why so many people get it wrong. Because life is just one moment, the rest of it is waiting for life to happen.


	26. Chapter 26

**5 months later**

It didn't take her long to redecorate their room, to make it a little bit more personal. At first, she thought she won't make a lot of changes, just add few things, some pictures, one more wardrobe, or a dresser, but when she proposed the idea to Caroline, Caroline felt obligated to pressure her into redecorating the whole room.

The only thing that stayed the same, in shape and position, is the enormous canopy bed which she always found so comfortable. First came the new rug, and with it new curtains, which color didn't do much good to the color of the couch, so that had to be changed as well.

He didn't mind, he knew he will grew accustomed to the new look of the room, as long as she's happy. The only thing he insisted on was keeping the piano, with which she had no problems with because she thought it gives a nice touch to the room.

Redecorating took a lot of her time, but at least it was efficient in forgetting trivial problems, and sometimes, even bigger ones. Stefan was absent a lot, dealing with problems he didn't want to worry her with because they weren't so serious, but still serious enough to take up most of his time. Rebekah went back to live with her mother, so Katherine and Caroline were the ones she spent most of her days with.

After some time Katherine had to be let in on their secret, especially after Elena started showing without the option of hiding her bump. At first she was surprised, not because she didn't see it coming, but because she thought her cousin doesn't have guts, which made all of them laugh. She was quite giddy about it, though, after the initial surprise simmered down.

Every day was new and exciting. She felt like she fell through a hole into someone's else life, because she didn't feel like she's living her life anymore. Everything was different and unexplored, and there were so many things to learn, but she was happy, and that's what mattered. She didn't resent Stefan for being busy most of the days, she knew he's fulfilling his duty, plus there was always time for her in his schedule, even if it was late at night, while everyone else were sleeping.

In July Caroline celebrated her 18th birthday, and she was married and gone by the end of August. There were a lot of tears, but no regrets. She didn't move that far away, only a two hour carriage ride away from the Court.

A month after the Princess left for France, a letter arrived. Even though it was addressed to Stefan, he gave it to Damon to read in private. Damon stared at the letter for quite some time, until he locked himself in his room with it and a bottle of wine. Stefan was nervous to find out the answer, but he also knew that Damon is more nervous than anyone. His whole future depends on that one letter.

After few hours Damon came out of his room and entered Stefan's study with an opened letter, empty bottle and a goofy grin on his face. Stefan knew the answer right away, just by seeing Damon smile like that.

Like he never smiled before.

Princess decided to accept their proposal, and by some miracle, so did her father. She writes that she had managed to persuade him.

Since then, they've seen quite bit of each other. She came here to visit, and he went to France to visit her, even though he disliked the idea. He still does. But Stefan says he has never seen his brother so happy, not since their early childhood.

He's not quite sure when exactly something broke in Damon, or what, but whatever it was, Princess had managed to mend it.

When Elena started showing, they had no other choice but to announce that they're married, which wasn't quite difficult now when the war agreement has been reached. People on the Court have been suspecting it already, servants even suspected her pregnancy based on her nutrition. It's hard to keep the gossip away, no matter how careful you are. Someone always overhears something they're not supposed to know. So when they made the news public, no one was surprised. People who were suspecting it were glorified for being right. Council wasn't too happy with his decision, but they also knew that there's nothing they can do.

The Coronation was a big event, something people in the Kingdom expect. They had to offer them as many festivities as possible to make up for keeping their wedding ceremony private.

Stefan couldn't get enough of their comments about how beautiful she is, how splendid her smile is, how she looks like she's shining from within.

With September came one of the biggest miracles. Margret, the girl Stefan brought with him couple of months ago, fully recovered. Elena continued taking care of her, but after some time, there was nothing she could do but wait and hope. The fever took her down so hard that sometimes she stayed pinned in the bed for days, without taking food or fluids. Then she would wake up, eat something, very little though, and drank some tea before falling asleep again. That process lasted for the whole summer. No one thought she will make it. Elena herself lost all hope, but she refused to let anyone give up, especially physicians who were supposed to be healing her.

After several months she became able to stay awake for couple of days. She was still ill and weak and her body was nothing but skin and bone, but she was making progress. She started walking. They gave her a bath, sinking her thin, greasy hair into hot water with lemon scent. Elena started telling her stories while she was actually able to hear them. They talked and played.

By the beginning of September, Margret was well and fully on her feet. They sent for her parents to pick her up.

Elena gave her one last bath and dressed her in a dress she had had made especially for her, once she realized Margret is going to recover. She knitted her hair in a braid, letting it hang down her back, following the line of her spine.

She grew quite accustomed to having Margret here. She will miss her, and there's no doubt Margret will miss Elena as well.

You never forget the person who saved your life simply by not giving up the belief that you will make it through.

They wait in front of the gates, Margret in Elena's lap, Elena tickling Margret and whispering something in her ear, Stefan in the close proximity of them, thinking about what a wonderful mother Elena is going to make.

The sound of hooves thumping against hard ground, one which hasn't seen rain in weeks, becomes louder and closer, until two horses carrying three people, a man on one and a woman and a small boy on the other, become visible.

Elena pulls her hands away from Margret's body and the girl jumps from her lap and starts running in the direction of what seems to be her family. Her legs are thin, like sticks, and weak, but she runs and runs and runs and never stops, not until she reaches them. "Mama! Papa!" she yells in their direction.

The woman who looks barely over thirty, with thick black hair and dark skin, is the first one to jump off of a horse. She falls on her knees, and Margret runs right into her hug. The woman squeezes her _tightly so tightly too tightly_ that Elena fears Margret will lose her breath.

She steps forward, but Stefan stops her. It's not her place.

Margret throws her arms around her mothers neck and she's crying and everyone are crying and her mother is yelling, "You're alright, oh thank you dear Lord you're alright," and the little boy has his hand on his sisters shoulder and her father is standing above them, tears in his eyes and they're a family.

All of a sudden they look up and see Stefan and Elena standing at the gates. They try to regain their composure, and after few minutes they succeed in straightening themselves up, coming closer. They fall on one knee and bow their heads, "Your Grace," they greet both of them.

Stefan motions for them to get up on their feet, there's no need for them to kneel. Elena still hasn't gotten used to people referring to her as _Your Grace_ or _my Queen_. She doesn't think she ever will.

"We could never thank you enough," the woman squeezes those words out of her throat, her cheeks swelling from all the tears.

"You can thank the Queen," he squeezes Elena's hand which is resting in his own, "She spent a lot of time taking care of Margret by herself."

Margret smiles at Elena from behind her mothers back, and Elena's free hand flies to her stomach, her palm resting on the top of her bump.

The woman's eyes move in Elena's direction, her lips quivering.

"The physician said she should have a lot of fluids," Elena says warmly, her eyes still on Margret, "She should eat plenty and have as little physical activity as possible until she becomes stronger," she smiles at Margret's lips which are always turned upwards, even since she got better.

She crouches down, barely, and asks Margret to come over to her. The girl hops over and throws her arms around Elena, showing her that she has some strength. "I'm going to miss you," Elena says, her eyes becoming teary, but she hugs her back, "Be a good girl, okay?"

Margret nods against her shoulder before letting her go.

* * *

Caroline came to visit them, alongside her husband. Elena was in the last month of her pregnancy, presenting herself as extremely cheerful that day. Stefan was slightly frightened of happy Elena because she's been extremely moody last couple of days. She feels swollen, like a watermelon, and she's convinced the baby over welcomed its stay inside of her body. It started pressing onto her insides and her emotions.

But she missed Caroline, they haven't seen each other in more than a month, since she's been traveling with her husband. Elena hasn't left the castle in a month because it would take an army to get her down the stairs. So she decided to do her best to keep a happy face as long as they're there, and be as pleasant as she can.

Stefan was discussing something with his cousin, they were deep into some serious conversation. Caroline was telling her some funny stories from their trip. Both of them were laughing so hard that every inch of their body had hurt from laughter.

Her throat was sore and her lungs free of air, her chest squeezing in, it felt like her ribs are cracking. Her fingers were tingling and there was a sharp pain in her stomach.

She stopped laughing and made a loud, surprised gasp. "Oh!"

Everyone stopped chattering and looked in her direction. They were wearing masks of surprise on their faces, but so did she.

"Is there something wrong?" Caroline asks after few seconds of silence.

Elena nods her head lightly, but she doesn't look at Caroline, she looks at Stefan. "I think the baby is coming," she says, her hands landing on her dress. She can feel water running down her legs. She doesn't remember spilling anything over herself. Her dress is damp with liquid. It's not blood, though, it's transparent.

The next sound that comes out of her mouth is uncomfortable and full of pain. She basically shrieks.

Everything happens so fast. All three of them are on their feet, basically running into each other. Finally, Caroline is the one who runs to let someone know what's happening so that midwife can be noticed. Stefan is by her side, squeezing her hand. He's hurting her, but that pain feels reassuring. The rest of it is what scares her. He's not sure what to do, so he asks her does she think she can get up.

Sharp pain slices through her stomach once again. She screams. It feels like someone drove a knife in her stomach and the knife keeps going _deeper deeper deeper_.

Then, it stops. She grabs for air greedily, her lungs are empty. She tells Stefan she can get up now, so he helps her.

_You can do this_, she tells herself. Women much younger than she is gave birth. Her mother was the same age when she gave birth to her. Her body is made for this, it can soak all this pain like a sponge, she just has to concentrate.

She thinks about everything she's been through, she thinks about every ounce of physical pain. She remembers a man ripping her from the inside for the first time, she remembers the hunger and the feeling of freezing to death, or burning alive. She tries to console herself with pain, but none of it is enough because this is like nothing she has ever experienced before.

Her mother used to say that no man could ever give birth to a child, no soldier brave enough would be strong enough. She never believed her mother, that men who go to battles and are not scared to die couldn't do something every woman does at least once in a lifetime.

She believes her now.

Dying is easy. Living is hard. Bringing new life to the world is the hardest.

So she consoles herself with the moments of pain which brought her happiness. When she fell in love with Stefan it had hurt like someone pushed her off of a cliff. The first time they kissed he burned her lips, with what, she still doesn't know. The first time they made love she felt pain before pleasure came rushing down on her.

This is pain. But the baby will come, it will be here, with them, and she will kiss it and rock it and love it.

She consoles herself with that thought.

Caroline comes with two servants who take her from Stefan to one of the rooms where they had prepared the bed for her to give the birth in. Midwife arrives shortly after.

She's been in labor for hours, but to her it seems like it's been days. It became repetitive and she knew what to expect after some time. That doesn't mean the pain lessened, no, it increased and came more often.

Finally they laid her on a bed and lifted her legs in the air, separating them from each other.

They were giving her instructions, but their voices were hazy, their words got lost to her.

_Push, push, push._

That was the only word she could hear. So she pushed.

She pushed hard, many times, losing energy, strength, will. She felt like her insides are crawling out of her body, she felt like she's going to explode.

And she did. She was sweaty and her hair was sticking on the skin of her face and every inch of her body was in pain. There were tears in her eyes and lack of air in her nostrils.

Then she heard it. _Crying_.

It was loud and incoherent but it made her open her eyes after closing them for one last push.

The midwife was standing next to her with a white sheet in her arms which kept _crying crying crying_ louder.

"It's a girl, my Queen," she says.

Elena doesn't say anything. She can't say anything. She just extends her arms and the midwife puts the white bundle in them and the crying stops. She brings the baby closer to her body, rocking her in her arms.

The servants remove the bloody and wet sheets, and wipe the sweat off of her face. They even tie her hair to remove it from her skin.

Elena removes the sheet from the baby's face. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her little nostrils grow wider every time she exhales, her little strawberry lips are shut and thin. Her skin is dark, as Elena's is, and there's a bundle of light brown hair on the top of her head. Elena smiles.

She never stops smiling.

Eventually they let Stefan in to see them. He walks over to the bed slowly, carefully, softly, until he's standing over them both. Elena looks up at him, clearly tired and exhausted. Her skin is still shining, and so are her eyes. But her smile never falters.

She gives the baby to him and he takes her in his arms. She's so small and he's afraid he's going to hurt her, so he just stands there looking at her.

"It's a girl," Elena's voice is hoarse.

Stefan smiles. "I know," he gets comfortable with having the baby in his arms and starts rocking her, "I've been hoping for a girl," he touches her skin and it's so soft almost too soft to be touched.

Every King wants an heir, but not every King loves his Queen. Not every King knows her fears and insecurities and not every King does everything in his power to mend those.

The baby yawns, and Stefan smiles down at her. "Hey there Princess," a frown appears on his face as he looks at Elena, "Princess what?" he asks. They never did decide on a name.

Elena ponders on it for a bit. "Charlotte?" she asks. She has always liked the name.

Stefan nods. "Sounds perfect."

And she was.


	27. Chapter 27

_**EPILOGUE**_

Stefan considered himself a very lucky man.

His mother never loved his father, and he never loved her back. She never told him this personally, and his fathers actions spoke for themselves, but when he fell in love, he realized that there's a difference between being married to someone and being in a marriage.

There's a difference between sleeping in someones bed because you love them, and sleeping there because it's your place.

He also came to realize that it wasn't their fault. Their marriage was a necessity, a game, a pretty picture for others to look at which becomes blank when everyone turn their heads away. Their lives were mashed together because the circumstances required it. Some people fall in love, some never do.

His parents were one of those who never did fall in love, no matter how much time they spent together. And sometimes, that's the price you have to pay for being a part of this life. For being born as a royal, with a crown hanging over your head as soon as you make the first sound. As soon as you shriek into the void.

He grew up watching that kind of a life. He grew up resenting his father for treating his mother like she doesn't even matter, like she's not his Queen, his wife, the mother of his children. He treated his whores like queens, he was married to wine, and his bastards are all over the country, unaware of the blue blood that is circling through their veins.

He swore he will never treat his wife that way, even if he's forced to marry, even if he doesn't fall in love with her. He will treat her with respect she deserves.

But he was lucky, he didn't even have to leave his home to find love. Love came to him. It crawled to his doorstep, dirty and muddy, in rags and chains, with wounds and blood seeping from its body. He recognized her right away, even though he had never seen her face. He felt like they're old friends, companions, acquaintances who met a long time ago with a promise to meet again.

So he took the chains off and replaced the rags with pretty dresses. He washed the dirt and blood and he fell in love with love.

But it wasn't enough, because love didn't wear a crown, and love's head wasn't meant to wear one. So he looked away, but never for too long. He's been waiting for quite some time for her to just look away that easily.

And after some time, she decided to look back at him, and she never turned her look away. They've been staring at each other forever since.

Stefan wished his mother was there to see him now. Both him and Damon.

He wants to show her everything he had done. Everything she wanted to do, everything she wanted to see done, but his father never cared enough about. He wants to show her how the Kingdom shines now. He wants her to see how happy the people are. He wants to let her know that he fell in love, fully, truly, deeply, irreversibly. She would have liked Elena. He wants her to meet her grandchildren.

Elena was the same, often wishing her mother is there to guide her, especially after having her first child. She was so lost, so inexperienced, so alone. She knew very little of what to do and how to handle things. Fortunately, she was a quick study, but that doesn't mean she stopped missing her mother.

Once she realized how wonderful motherhood is she started missing her even more.

They were so happy, so incredibly happy.

It took them some time to adjust to having someone else in their lives, but the effort was worth it. Elena refused for anyone else but her to take care of her child. She wanted to do everything by herself, even though some people insisted that is not the Queen's duty. But Stefan knew his wife, and he knew how much it would pain her to miss something, so he hushed those people immediately.

Elena was so much more happier with Charlotte in her arms. She rocked her and sang to her, softly, quietly, songs she knows by memory. He would sit on the sofa and watch her moving across the room, smiling with a new kind of a smile, one he has never seen on her face before. He never knew what a beautiful voice she has, not until now, not until he heard her sing.

And then, when she got too tired, when her body would seem so weak that he would think she's going to collapse any second now, when her eyelids would start closing on their own, he would make her lay her exhausted body on the bed and took care of Charlotte by himself. It was her turn to watch them.

She loved Stefan for the way he loved their baby, it made her fall in love with another side of him.

Even though motherhood made her even more beautiful than she was before, if such a thing was even possible, he was worried for her. She was in labor for hours, she was giving birth for hours. Afterwards she looked so weak and pale. Physician said that she needs to take a lot of rest before getting out of bed because she's too weak.

So she made herself stronger.

"Do you still love me?" she asked him one time.

He knew better than to act surprised. He knew she doesn't doubt him, or their love, she just needs to hear it from him from time to time. "Of course."

"Even now?" her look falls on the sleeping baby in her arms.

His look follows hers. "Especially now."

Charlotte was doing well, she was growing into a strong and beautiful baby. Her skin was the replica of Elena's, like she has a healthy tan. Her lips were small, like a bean, but as red as blood. She wore a patch of light brown hair on her head.

Her eyes are what Elena loves the most about her. Those big, beautiful, green eyes, with flecks of amber in them. "It's like I see you staring back at me," she confessed to Stefan.

It's been few months after she gave birth that they made love again.

He didn't want to push her because he was afraid for her health, even though he missed being close to her. She was strong enough to stand on her own two feet and take care of the baby, but she was still so weak that she barely left their room.

When she got stronger, she was afraid. She was afraid of how it's going to feel now that she gave birth. She was afraid that he won't find her attractive anymore, even though her body was the same as before. She had her tiny frame to thank for that.

She was postponing it as long as possible, until she realized she's being selfish. She's taking something away from both of them, something that brings them closer together. Because of the insecurities she can't get rid off. It's time that she does.

So she gathered enough strength, and regretted it. Regretted waiting for so long, because nothing has changed, nothing at all. He was still the same sweet Stefan, who loved her with everything he had. Maybe he loved her even more now, because now there's another version of her to love. He was so gentle. His nose was nuzzling against hers, his chest pressed onto hers, so close that she could feel his heart beating. He kept whispering how much he loves her into her ear.

Elena adjusted to being a Queen fairly quickly, and embraced all of her duties. She never complained, quite contrary, she seemed happy to do whatever was asked from her to do. There were a lot of things she had to learn, though, since she wasn't born as a part of royalty. Those who are are being taught certain things from a very young age. She was nervous and disappointed with herself when she couldn't remember things, but overall, she did good.

And Stefan was always by her side, helping her, comforting her, taking care of her.

He never ceased to believe in her.

They were partners. She was the person he came to during the hard times, when decisions had to be made. He always asked for her advice, for her opinion, and she did her best to provide him with it.

He forgot how it is to rule a Kingdom without her by his side, and he never wanted to be reminded of it again.

Damon married Princess Eve of France about half a year after she agreed to accept his proposal. They fought a lot, but not over petty things, but things they believe in. They fought with passion, throwing words at each other like they're nothing, even though some of them weighed as much as rocks did, and hurt all the same. But they knew when to stop, and they have never let it affect their marriage. Damon often said that's how they keep things alive.

While Stefan and Elena lived in a perfect harmony with one another, Damon and Eve were as restless as a rocky sea during the storm.

After they got married they moved to a large residence only few minutes away from the Court.

Elena and Eve became good friends, especially after Eve had her baby. Her mother died when she was young as well, so she was as inexperienced and lost as Elena had been. Elena was more than glad to show her the ropes of motherhood.

After Caroline became a mother her visits lessened, but she still visited as often as possible. Stefan and Elena often visited Caroline and her husband as well, and their children became good friends.

Year after Charlotte was born, Elena got pregnant again, this time with a boy whom they named William. Everyone celebrated the birth of the King's firstborn son who will one day sit on the throne his father is sitting on now.

Even though they were happy, there weren't all roses in their garden. They had their disagreements, their little quarrels. Sometimes they would act like they did when they first met - they would avoid each other after a fight, only to come apologizing to each other. Even after all those years they spent together they never outgrew those two kids who fell in love with each other under the most unfortunate circumstances.

There were wars and battles he had to attend, which is something she wasn't too happy about. She had a hard time letting him go, but it was his duty. He always said he can't send other men to fight his battles for him, so he would leave them, sometimes for weeks, sometimes for months, sometimes for even more than a year. It was hard for him to do so, and he did it with a heavy heart, but it had to be done. He wrote to them as often as he could. Every time he would leave, Elena would get restless and incredibly sad, sometimes even depressed. Things were different now, it wasn't just the two of them anymore, they had a family. She wasn't the only one who had someone to lose, her children had a father to lose. This was her home now, even when he wasn't there. Every time he went away, he took a piece of her with him, making her feel incomplete. Sometimes she would cry, not knowing what she's crying about.

And then he would come back. He came back to her every time.

Their third child, Mary, died of scarlet fever at the age of six. When she got ill, Elena wouldn't leave her side. Stefan begged her to leave the room, but she wouldn't budge. He was sad as well, seeing his little girl chained against a bed, but he also knew there's nothing either of them can do. She's in God's hands. Seeing Elena hover over her only broke his heart more. She barely ate and slept, she just sat there, on the edge of the sick child's bed, staring at her, praying for her to get better. She didn't get better, though.

She died peacefully, in her sleep. Stefan was in front of the room when she exhaled for one last time, and he knew she died by the sound Elena made. It was the saddest melody you will ever hear in your life, a mother losing her child. Her cries turned into sobs, and sobs into wailing's, until she just cried with no sound leaving her mouth.

She took Mary's body in her arms and sang to her until there were no words left. Stefan had to drag her away, and grief chained her to the bed.

She swore she won't have any more children, she promised to herself that from now on she will be careful, that she won't let it happen.

Stefan's heart broke because his wife was shattering in front of him, and there was nothing he could do. She didn't respond to his touch or voice for a very long time.

That's what happens when an inexplicable tragedy strikes you - you become numb. And you are numb until one day you aren't, and on that day all the emotions come rushing down to you, washing you with mixed and contradictory feelings.

Eventually Elena went back to being her old self, but sometimes she would say Mary's name and just tune out, like she's deep into thought. Her eyes would became blank and her skin pale and she would just disappear for few minutes. That's what scared Stefan the most, how easy it was for her to disappear, to leave him. That's when it realized how easy it would be for him to lose her.

She never stopped grieving over Mary, but she knew she has two other children who need her attention. Elena's grief was loud, open, visible, but Stefan's was silent. He added death of his daughter on his list of unfair things in life. People who left before their time, innocent souls that were wrongly accused and therefor stripped from life.

It was Elena's plan to never get pregnant again, but life had other plans. Next time she stayed with a child, she was in shock. She was confused. But mostly, she was afraid. She was afraid of losing this one too.

But being a mother was one of the greatest joys of Elena's life, so under all that worry and fear, she couldn't hide her happiness. Especially since she was able to convince herself that she won't have anymore children.

"This one is different," Elena told Stefan, her voice soft and gently. She made him touch her belly all the time. "It's so still," she said, keeping her hands on top of Stefan's, which were resting on her stomach. The baby rarely moved, it was so quiet and peaceful that at the beginning Elena was afraid it died inside of her. But then, every now and then, the baby would move, but softly. Quickly. The feeling was pleasant, because it always came as a surprise. "Oh," she said happily, "It's like she's dancing," she giggled.

"She?" Stefan asked curiously. Somehow, Elena always knew, like the babies were whispering to her what they are.

"No boy can move like this, like he's floating in the air, so gracefully," she explained.

And she was right, the baby was a she, and they named her Emma. She was the same in the outside world like she was inside of her mother. She was quiet and still, but when she spoke her words always carried great weight, and everyone in the room would become quiet, mesmerized by her soft tone. She sounded like an angel, and she was a copy of her father. Tall and slender, with long sandy hair and pure, green eyes. She sang like her mother and walked as if she's floating and when she played her fathers piano, she barely touched the keys, like she's afraid of hurting them.

Elena loved all of her children the same, but Emma was special.

They had seven children all together, two boys, William and James, and five girls, Charlotte, Mary, Emma, Elizabeth and Margret.

Sometimes people would say that they have six children, to which Elena would respond, "No, no. We have seven children," never forgetting about little Mary.

She was his everything, the only woman he ever loved, the only woman he ever kissed, the only woman he made love to. She was his partner in the great dance of life. They spent 20 wonderful years together out of which they spent 18 of those years married.

One year, Stefan came home from a battle with a terrible case of pneumonia.

"He will get better," Elena shrugged off everyone's worry, "He always does."

He didn't get better, though, he only got worse. Elena never left his side, even though he was sleeping most of the time, under high fever. She took his hand in hers and never let it go. She told him she loves him at least ten times a day, and she begged him not to leave her at least twice as much.

He was too weak to talk. Sometimes he would look at her meaningfully, or gather enough strength to squeeze her hand with his fingers.

"You made my life magnificent," he managed to squeeze out few hours before his death, "You gave the word home a new meaning. I love you, Elena."

She actually allowed herself to hope that he's getting better. It was only later that she realized that he was saying goodbye.

His muscles got too relaxed and his fingers fell from her hand. She looked at him, and his eyes were closed. He wasn't breathing anymore.

A wry, unnatural, inhumane sound left her throat, which is how everyone knew the King is dead.

She climbed on the bed with him and wrapped herself around him, like she always did before they fell asleep, and yelled, "Take me with you, please take me with you."

No one could make her leave his body, until Caroline finally convinced her it's time to let him go. So she did.

She felt the same like she did when he left for battle, like he took a part of her with him. But this time, she knew she's not getting it back. For the rest of her life she felt a void inside of her. There was something missing.

She knew she has her children to take care of, the youngest one was practically still a baby. William still wasn't of age, so he couldn't rule the country, and Damon was made the King's Regent, as Stefan wished, until the boy is old enough to step on the throne.

So she continued going through life without Stefan. She watched her children grow up, she watched her daughters becoming Queens and having children of their own. She watched her eldest son become a King, as wise as his father was. Because Stefan was careful to teach him an important lesson - to rule with his heart, not with his mind. Being a King is not his job, it's who he is, and he should love it, not consider it an obligation.

Her youngest daughter never had a chance to really get to know her father, since he died when she was only three years old, so Elena did her best to tell her about him every chance she got. So did the other children. They talked about how he taught them to play the piano, and about all the chasing they did outside. And about angels in the snow all of them did as a family.

"Do you miss him, Lady Mother? Father?" one of her daughters asked during one of those tale telling occasions.

Her heart started swelling, with memories and happiness and misery. "I miss him too much."

She felt guilty with every breath she took.

She waited until all of her children were old enough to lead lives of their own. They got married and had their own children.

Which is when she laid into bed and relaxed. She closed her eyes and smiled. And as she could feel herself drifting away from her own body, she could see everything. Every moment of her life. Every smile, every tear, every laugh and every cry.

She was going away, but she wasn't afraid. She had a good life. She made a difference. She loved and was loved and she left something behind.

She wasn't afraid because she knew he's waiting for her.

She's going home.

* * *

_**AN: So here we are, the end of the journey. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it :) Thank you all for reading and thank you on all of your wonderful reviews!**_

_**3**_


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